


Hold It Against Me

by theslashbunny (theplotbunny)



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Anonymous Sex, Execution Imagery, M/M, McCoy's Language, Minor Character Death, Misunderstandings, alcohol use, unprotected sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-26
Updated: 2015-11-19
Packaged: 2018-01-10 02:17:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 38,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1153586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theplotbunny/pseuds/theslashbunny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim drags Leonard to a dance club on an alien pleasure planet during a shore leave. Surely nothing good can come from a place where masks are mandatory, but shirts are not. </p><p>Leonard could never have guessed what his decisions that night would lead to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which Leonard Unwittingly Takes Jim's Advice

**Author's Note:**

> Was totally inspired by Adam Lambert's "Fever" and "Strut", Britney Spears's "Hold It Against Me", The Black-Eyed Peas's "I Gotta Feelin'", and a plethora of Lady Gaga songs, particularly "Teeth" and "Bad Romance"

James Kirk and Leonard McCoy were best friends. Yes, they bickered like two old women, but everyone knew that it was just because they were so close. And while Leonard may occasionally insult Jim and yell at him, they knew that he really cared about and respected him. But it was moments like this that Kirk really pissed McCoy off. He hated how charming and convincing he could be and how easy it seemed to be for the blond to get just what he wanted - especially from Leonard. 

It was shore leave and McCoy wanted to be doing nothing other than sitting in his cabin, reading a book with a drink of good bourbon in his hand. Instead, he was standing at the bar in a loud, dimly lit club, with a drink of cheap whatever-the-fuck-Kirk-had-ordered-for-him, glaring out over the crowd of grinding bodies, looking for his "friend," who had disappeared after clapping him on the shoulder and telling him to "have fun" while simultaneously implying that Leonard no longer knew how. Oh, yes, McCoy was pissed - and not the happy drunk kind. 

He took another sip of the - what the hell was this anyway? - and continued to scan the dance area for blond hair. Jim would probably end up a drunken mess, injured for having hit on the wrong person, in bed contracting god-only-knew-what-STI from god-only-knew-who, or some mix of the three - and this time, Leonard was seriously thinking about letting him suffer awhile from tonight's chosen escape mechanism to teach him a lesson. He was captain of the Fleet's flagship, for Christ's sake! And while McCoy knew that he'd never do anything to actually jeopardize that, he couldn't _possibly_ believe that dragging his CMO to a dance club on a pleasure planet was a good idea! Right?! Jesus! Everyone here was even wearing masks! _Nothing_ good could come from the desire for that level of anonymity! Apparently not knowing the name of whatever human/alien one hooked up with was just not enough here. 

_Not that the masks helped in some cases_ , Leonard thought as he reached up and adjusted the black one Jim had shoved onto his face. He'd just seen Sulu wander out with some pretty, blue, androgynous alien, drunk off his ass already. Leonard had done the entrance physicals on half of the crew and could therefore recognize them, mask or no, and wasn't really attracted to aliens, humanoid or not - just what kind of fun was Jim expecting him to have? He wasn't about to have sex with someone that he'd come into contact with on the ship, which is probably what Jim meant by "fun," and it wasn't like getting drunk alone was that great of a time and his usual drinking buddy - lecherous traitor that he was - had pretty much ditched him from the start.

Leonard took another swig of the drink that was getting more delicious by the second as he looked one last time for a blond head of hair before cutting out for the night. Another obnoxiously loud song started pumping through the speakers, one with a slower beat - almost like heart beat, but more... aggressive, more predatory than the sound of a beating heart could ever be to a doctor. The writhing of the dancers had slowed accordingly and Leonard's eyes landed on one at the exact moment that one of the sweeping lights passed. His hair was light, but it was slicked back and he was way too lean to be Jim. 

The man - boy? - had lost his shirt at some point in the night. He was obviously human; even in the dim light, Leonard could see the pink tint to his skin and the sweat that was glistening off of the toned chest in a way that few alien species possessed as he moved in time with the darker man against his back. Len had never been much for voyeurism, but he couldn't look away as the music sped up slightly and the young man moved his hands in rhythm along his own torso and the darker hands lingered at the young man's waistband and deliciously tight jeans. As the tempo sped up further, so did their movements, one pale arm reaching up to grip the back of the other man's neck, and the young man's head fell back against a broad shoulder, mask hiding what must have been delicate features - had to be delicate with a body like that - except for a strong jaw and soft-looking lips parted slightly in breath and pleasure. 

Len drained his drink, but his mouth was dry again when the music changed, the youth's head dropped from the shoulder that Len was strangely jealous of, and their eyes met. He couldn't tell what color they were at this distance and he desperately wanted to know as his gaze was met with an intensity, a challenge that Len instantly knew he could meet. Another glass of that nameless alcoholic concoction appeared next to his elbow on the bar, and he knew that he probably shouldn't drink it, that the first had probably been more than enough, but the brunet found himself draining it as the young man broke away from the man he was dancing with and stalked - there was no other word for it - towards Len.

He insinuated himself immediately into Len's personal space, neatly fitting in the space between the brunet and the other patrons at the bar. Up close and in the slightly better light near the bar, Len could see that the dark mask spanning from his hairline - light brown, not blond - to the hollows of his cheeks was actually dark blue shot through with silver, surrounding attentive eyes that reflected the color of the changing reds, purples, and blues of the lights. The young man never broke eye contact as one hand removed the empty glass to the bar-top and the other pressed its palm to the thin t-shirt covering Len's chest.college, unimpressive - but as the smaller man leaned up and pressed his half-jean-clad body up against Len's... well, he couldn't blame the feeling that shot through his whole system on the booze. Well, maybe he could a little. He was going to try, at least.

The look in those light eyes was almost daring Len to do something, anything, as the slender hand on his chest was joined by its partner and one made its way slowly, firmly, up onto his shoulder and when the warm skin came to rest on the back of his neck, everything but the music and the man faded to dim static. 

His eyes must have held whatever answer the young man was looking for; a bright pink tongue slipped out to moisten lips that then tipped up into a smug smirk. Len felt himself swallow hard as the hand on his neck slipped teasingly down his chest to tug at a belt loop, leading him as the youth backed away from bar and towards a dark hallway that Len had barely noticed when he came in and still wasn't registering more than as _dark_ and _hallway_. He vaguely registered the dancers they were passing and the couples hidden in corners along that poorly lit, twisting and turning corridor, but the still-smirking man continued to lead him further and further until he felt himself tugged to the left into a recess in the wall. 

He could still hear the music, hell, he could feel it through the floor, as the boy - _fuck, he couldn't be more than twenty_ \- backed himself against a wall and pulled Len's broader body close. It was like his hands had ceased to exist until Len found them pressed against hot flesh, mapping out the lines and angles - _no, definitely not a kid_ \- of the body held against his. His eyes were still locked on eyes with pupils probably as blown with desire as his when he felt long-fingered hands on his ass, pulling their pelvises together. The mystery man's head fell back as it had on the dance floor, this time with a gasp escaping his mouth. And like a spell had been broken when their gaze had, Len felt the lust crash through him like a wave, latching his lips to the soft skin just under that strong jaw, drawing out a moan. Thin fingers moved frantically at the button on his pants, at the skin under his t-shirt, seemingly unsure what they wanted more. His own hands moved to the stranger's belt - _god, he couldn't believe he was doing this_ \- as his mouth continued its mission to map that smooth, strong throat that was making such delicious, sultry sounds.man - was going to haunt him for years to come. It was the whole package - the confidence, the body, the eyes and the intelligence and drive that he could see behind them - it was all that he could want and more than he could handle. 

Everything after that seemed to happen too fast, but so slowly. The hands had gotten his pants open, but then suddenly the strong fingers wrapped around him were gone, pressing a packet of lube - _huh, medical grade_ \- into his hands. The narrow hips were turning around, chest pressing up against the wall, and then his fingers were inside, and the noises that beautiful being was making were seeping through his skin, burning him from the inside out, and it couldn't possibly get any better, but then it did. He was buried to the base in heat, waiting for the signal to _move_ and then it came, and he was pounding in and out and surely he was hurting him, but oh, those sounds! The moans and cries were drowning out the music and surely someone could hear, someone would see and then it didn't matter because the body against him was shuddering its release, tightening around him until it was just the right shade of painful and he was coming and he couldn't see, couldn't hear but for a word that he didn't recognize coming from that sweet mouth that he would later regret never tasting.


	2. In Which Leonard Faces the Morning After

The next morning, Leonard woke in his quarters to the overly cheerful greeting of that blond little shit that was the reason for this killer hangover but still dared to call him friend.

"You can shove that 'good morning' up your ass. How did you get in here anyway?" Jim just smirked and flopped down onto Leonard's bed, jostling him enough that he thought he might puke.

"Please. It took me less than a minute to get through. I didn't even have to use my override." His smirk turned into a grin. "I take it you had a good time." Leonard looked at him suspiciously.

"What the hell are you doing in here? Other than annoying the shit out of me at -" _Jesus._ "- eight in the morning." Jim's blue eyes narrowed a bit as they searched Leonard's own hazel ones.

"Couldn't find you when I was ready to leave last night. Wanted to make sure you were okay." The smile turned mischievous as his tone turned joking."Seems like we've had a bit of a role reversal, though. I think that you had even more fun than I did. Should I be dragging you to Nurse Chapel for an STI panel?"

Leonard could feel himself pale. _Oh fuck_. Jim's smile disappeared. "Oh my god. Seriously?!" Leonard groaned. "But- but you don't do one-night-stands! Holy shit!"

The brunet dropped his face into his hands as Jim continued in his minor freak-out about Leonard's now-existent sex life. He'd had unprotected anonymous sex with a masked man in the back hallway of an alien dance club on a pleasure planet. And it had turned out to be the best sex he'd ever had, including all of his years with Jocelyn. When he closed his eyes, he could still see the lean back, strong shoulders tapering to a narrow waist above a firm ass and muscled thighs. When he licked his lips, he could still taste the sweaty skin and he was certain he'd be hearing those cries, gasps and moans in his dreams for a long time, if not in his fantasies for the rest of his life. His palms scrubbed his stubbled face as Jim's rant was again directed at him instead of at the universe in general, which apparently, Jim was telling Leonard, was horribly cruel for not letting him see this mystery person.

"You must have been so wasted to agree to _anything_! And I missed it! Or she must have been so hot -" Unfortunately, Jim didn't miss the slight flinch at the word "she" and paused, his tone finally lowering enough to not send Leonard's eardrums running for cover. "Whoa. _He?_ Wow." _Oh, god, here it came -_ "Shit. Bones, let's go. I'm buying you breakfast." _Wait. What?_

Leonard looked up. "Wait. What?" Jim just clapped him on the shoulder before getting up to dig through Leonard's closet to find him some clothes.

"One, that guy must have been smokin' hot to get you, because you are clearly not hungover enough to have been drunk out of your mind. Two, you obviously took my direction to 'have fun' to heart and for that I'm proud of you." _Great, Jim fuckin' Kirk was proud of him for getting laid by some stranger._ "And three-"Jim's full-face grin returned, "I'm hungry. Let's go." 

///\\\\\

There was a surprising number of crew in the mess hall for this time of morning during shore leave. McCoy was even more surprised to see a slightly hungover Lt. Sulu grinning at them from a table in the corner. They'd barely reached the table with their food - oatmeal and fruit for Leonard, he wasn't sure his stomach could handle anything more - when Sulu burst out his news.

"You guys just missed it!" McCoy had seen him last night - how was he so energetic after drinking that much? "Chekov was just here! Poor kid could barely even sit down!" Jim burst into giggles.

"See, Bones? You weren't the only one who had a good time last night!"

"Jim, you're not a kid anymore so stop acting like it!" Leonard growled, doctor-mode kicking in despite his waning hangover. "He was in pain? Has he been to sickbay yet?"Jesus, Chekov was still just a kid. Sure, it'd been over a year since Leonard had been so shocked over Chekov's age, but was nothing sacred? He was just eight years older than Joanna!

Sulu just chuckled. "He said he was fine, but promised to stop by later anyway. Damn, he wouldn't say anything, but I'm gonna have to find out who it was! That guy has high standards, he wouldn't take it from just anyone. And you should've seen the hickey he had on his neck!" Leonard managed to block out the rest of the conversation between Sulu and Jim, even when Jim mentioned Leonard's own evening. As he ate, he couldn't help but think that Chekov _should_ have high standards, but that he shouldn't be "taking it", as Sulu so crudely put it, from _anyone_. _Period._

///\\\\\

By the time that Leonard made his way to sickbay - thank God for not being on the duty roster today - he was silently, vehemently cursing whatever ethicist decided it was just not okay for a licensed doctor to perform a simple series of tests on himself. Because of that damn rule, McCoy found himself hunting down Nurse Chapel. This was really gonna suck. 

The lovely blonde smiled at him as he walked up - _of course she did, she was unaware of how awkward this was about to become_ \- and extended her usual greeting before asking what he needed, letting her confusion at his presence show.

"I'm actually here as a patient this morning." Her face immediately turned serious.

"What's wron-" As his expression turned sheepish, hers hardened into a look of exasperation that he'd only ever before seen directed at patients (and the captain). "If you got wasted and are here for some relief, Leonard, then I swear on all - No. You know what? I won't lecture you on drunkenness, I'll lecture the captain, since it's probably his fault. Instead, you'll get to hear my 'You of all people should know better than to go along with that man's damn-fool plans' lecture, which I might as well get copyrighted!" Leonard cut her off before she could actually get into said lecture; after all, it was one he'd heard more than enough times since he'd met her in Starfleet Med Acad. 

"Damn it, Christine! If I needed a hypo, I coulda damn well got it myself and saved us both the trouble!" Maybe he should be concerned that more people didn't seem fazed by the fact that their CMO and Head Nurse were yelling at each other in the middle of the medical area. She managed to deflate from her state of puffed-up righteousness at that, crossed her arms and studied him expectantly. "I just need you to run some tests." She sighed the sigh of the long-suffering.

"What the hell did he get you into?" Leonard knew that he should probably stand up for Jim at this point. Yes, since he'd first met Christine at lab their first year at the Academy, she'd gotten to hear a wide range of stories about the shenanigans that the two men (rather Jim, and by default, Leonard as well) had managed to get involved in, but the young man was their captain now, had calmed down significantly since then, and couldn't really be blamed for this one.

"Well, Christine, unfortunately this time I've managed to get into enough trouble on my own." She looked skeptical. "Jim just put me in the right place to do it."

"Of course he did." Chapel gestured to an empty room - he loved this woman's sense of propriety - and followed him in. "What is it? Tox screen?" She turned to the cart to grab the medical scanner and almost dropped it when she heard his answer:

"No, I actually need you to run a full STI panel."

"You're kidding."

"..."

"Oh my god, you're not kidding."

"Thank you for your professionalism, Nurse. It's very reassuring." Damn it all to hell, maybe this _would_ have been less embarrassing if he'd gone to see M'Benga.

"I'm sorry, Leonard. I just... Well, this is more what I expected the captain to be asking for today, not you." She grabbed the scanner and began examining him.

"Oh, he's mentioned the role reversal, too. Been giving me shit all morning." She chuckled.

"Probably doing a pretty good impression of you." She paused. "Or has he not called you a 'self-destructive jackass' yet?" He grimaced.

"Very funny, Christine. Very funny." She laughed again, rolling up his sleeve to draw some blood. Some things still had to be tested for the old-fashioned way.

"You have to admit, it must be kind of amusing from his point of view." She put a label on the vial and gestured for him to hop down from the biobed. "Okay, I'll run the tests on this myself; can't have all those ensigns think their big, scary safe-sex advocate is a hypocrite, now can we?"

He grimaced again and she gave him a soft smile. "Don't worry, Leonard. I didn't find anything with the scan, but I'll need to check you again in two weeks to -"

"Yeah, yeah. I know about incubation periods, Christine." He headed for the doorway. Before he got there, he remembered the morning's conversation with Sulu. "One more thing. Has Ensign Chekov been in yet?" She narrowed her eyes at him.

“You didn't." Now it was his turn to sigh. "No. Nevermind. Wouldn't happen." _What the hell was that supposed to mean?_ "You also wouldn't think that I could possibly tell you anything about a patient unless you have a specific medical reason -" He was starting to feel bad about interrupting her so much, but, damn, his patience only went so far today.

"I just want to know if he came in to get checked out. Lieutenant Sulu mentioned that he was in visible pain this morning." The woman actually snorted in amusement.

"I'll tell you this: He was in and he's fine. Now get the hell out of my sickbay." Leonard could only smile as he left. He loved a woman with spunk.


	3. In Which The Mystery Man's Identity Is Revealed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I won't be typing out any accents, except maybe for a bit of McCoy's. I've tried the Russian and Scottish accents before and I think that it takes away from the story itself. Just imagine it in your head.

For the next two weeks, Leonard's days and nights seemed to revolve around the mystery man. His shifts in Sickbay were the only respite he had, as long as he could ignore the looks that Christine occasionally gave him. Outside of Sickbay, if Jim wasn't on duty, then he was pestering Leonard about who the guy was, as if Leonard was simply holding out on him. The worst part was perhaps when Jim attempted to systematically go through every male on the ship and every human that had been listed as 'in residence' on that damn planet, attempting to narrow down the possibilities. He knew that Jim was just trying to help, but only Jim was able to make  _assistance_ seem that obnoxious, with lewd reasons why it couldn't be this guy and inappropriate comments about how he wished it had been that guy. Leonard only felt a little bad for being happy that a minor Engineering disaster took Jim's attention away from that project.  
  
Nothing compared, however, to the torment coming from his own mind. He dreamed about it every night. Sometimes it was just a replay of events, sometimes their positions would be different - things that he wished he'd tried. Sometimes the young man agreed to go back with him to his room, sometimes their evening started on the Enterprise. But no matter what happened, the dream always ended before he managed to remove the mask. Leonard felt like a goddamn teenager again, waking up with an erection almost every morning, masturbating more than he had in years - and to thoughts of a complete stranger no less. Sometimes the dreams were so vivid that he'd barely even need to touch himself to reach climax.   
  
It invaded his waking hours, too. The oddest things brought up memories, stirred arousal. A lab tech playing music during her shift that reminded him of the club, the vibrations of the engines through the deck on certain levels was like that of the pulse of the music - a heart beat. The smell and taste of fruit juice reminding him of the tang of his drink. Chekov blushing at something Jim teased him with about his own shore leave adventure.   
  
As amazing as the sex had been, Leonard couldn't help but wish it had been different. He knew the taste of the man's skin -  _salty with sweat and a hint of something unidentifiable_  - but he didn't know the taste of his mouth. He had somehow managed to memorize what his body looked like, but he only knew the sight of the lower half of his face. And Leonard wanted to see it all - he wanted to know what eyebrows lay about those mesmerizing eyes, what cheekbones went with that jaw. He wanted to know if the man had freckles on his nose to match the light dusting of freckles on his shoulders.  
  
There was a reason why Leonard McCoy didn't do one-night-stands. He was a man who liked to take his time, to do things right. And he knew from experience that the first time with someone could be amazing - and it had been with the mystery man - but that it only got better as you got to know the other person, what he liked, what he didn't like, where to touch to hear gasps, where to kiss to draw out moans. And Leonard wouldn't get that chance with this man. And oh, how he wanted that chance.   
  
He was well aware of how chemistry between two people worked, just as he was aware that whatever-the-hell-that-drink-had-been probably had  _something_  to do with how good the sex had been - lack of inhibitions could occasionally be a good thing - but he wanted, needed to know how good it  _could_  have been. In his fantasies and dreams, his mind came up with so many things he wished he'd gotten to do, things he wished he'd been sober enough to think of, things he wished he'd known the man well enough to ask for. He knew that reality could never live up to the fantasies one creates in one's mind, but he couldn't stop them from invading his thoughts, from invading his dreams.   
  
As amazing as the night had been, its memory had become a source of frustration, a reminder of something that he would never have again. He tried to console himself with the fact that perhaps if he'd been completely sober, it wouldn't have been as great. Or maybe the guy was a total asshole who he'd want to punch in the face if he met him anywhere else. But that didn't stop him from wanting, from wishing for something more. And it made him feel ridiculous, pining over someone he didn't even know.   
  
///\\\\\  
  
About four weeks after the now-infamous shore leave, things had finally quieted down. Even Leonard's surprisingly active imagination had managed to find itself buried in and tired out by work. It was nothing more than the usual shipboard illnesses, check-ups, vaccinations, and workplace injuries, but there was enough of it to keep him more than occupied.   
  
On one particular day, it had been rather quiet. Earlier that afternoon, an ensign had come in with gastrointestinal distress that had resulted in Leonard having to change from his now soiled uniform shirt into a clean set of scrubs, but that had been the most excitement all day. Until an Engineering accident involving a Rhaandarite ensign had Leonard seriously thinking about talking to Scotty about the so-called "safety" protocols they had in place down there. He'd been forced to ask M'Benga to take over, when the severity of the man's internal injuries required someone with more experience in treating his species.   
  
The Rhaandarite's accident wasn't what caused the end of the uninteresting part of Leonard's day, though. Well, not directly, anyway. It was that M'Benga was still in surgery when Lieutenant Chekov came in for his follow-up appointment.   
  
M'Benga had treated the lieutenant a week ago after yet another away mission had gone awry. McCoy had been busy with the captain's usual plethora of injuries and hadn't familiarized himself with Chekov's part in the fiasco until he was greeted by the cheerful young man and pulled up the kid's chart on his PADD.   
  
"Let's see... A follow-up for two broken ribs, a concussion, various contusions and contact dermatitis about the torso, shoulders and legs." He let out a low whistle. "Trying to follow in the captain's footsteps, Chekov?" The Russian chuckled.  
  
"Not intentionally, sir." Leonard smiled - the boy's good humor was always infectious.  
  
"What the hell caused all this?" Leonard hadn't actually read the full away mission report. After going through Spock, they always ended up too dry and detailed for him to endure. He looked back at the chart before returning his incredulous gaze to the young man looking sheepish on the biobed in front of him. "You got into a fight with a giant plant?"  
  
"More like a tentacle slammed me repeatedly into the ground before the captain shot it. Sir." When another chuckle ended with those gray-green eyes looking up at him and the smile changing into a smirk, Leonard was hit with an emotion he couldn't quite put his finger on. Almost like déja vu, but he knew this situation had never happened before. Brushing it off, he set about his duties, scanning the young man's head and torso, palpating his injured areas to check for tenderness. All in all, the kid seemed to be healing well. The prior treatments of derm regen and osteo regen had probably removed the worst of it, but standard protocol was standard protocol.  
  
"Alright, Chekov. Let's a get a look at those bruises. I wanna make sure that rash is gone too," he said, making a note on the chart. The scanner was very sensitive, but some things it was still better to check the old fashioned way. If the kid needed another round of derm regen or antihistamines, it'd be easier to order the correct duration, intensity, or dosage if he'd seen the affected area with his own eyes.   
  
When Leonard glanced up, he saw Chekov removing his shirt as ordered in one graceful movement that most humans would envy the ability to do, and his breath caught in his lungs. Instead of seeing the contusions and contact dermatitis under the bright lights that he'd expected, his memory replaced it with that same lean toned torso covered in a thin sheen of sweat under strobing colored lights, another sight of it pressed up against a dingy wall in a dark hallway, his fingers and palms now aching to have that flushed skin under them once more. Suddenly, the feelings caused by his smirk made sense and had names -  _familiarity, desire._  
  
Those long, slender fingers that had recently featured in so many of his dreams were at Chekov's belt now, but they hesitated, only giving Leonard a glimpse of Starfleet issue underwear (something, his brain helpfully reminded him, Chekov - yes, Chekov! - hadn't been wearing that night) before a throat cleared and the sound of a low, accented tenor entered his ears.   
  
"Doctor, the bruise on my thigh is almost gone." He paused. Jesus, the kid sounded awkward, which could only mean one thing - he knew exactly who he was stripping for. "Is this necessary?"  
  
Leonard tore his eyes away from Chekov's hands -  _Jesus Christ on a hoverbike, how unprofessional could he be?!_  - and looked at the kid's -  _holy fuck, he **was**  a kid!_ - flushed face, meeting eyes that now looked painfully familiar.  _They were gray-green, a color that would easily reflect the sweeping lights that haunted his nights..._  He swallowed heavily, thanking a god that he wasn't sure he believed in at the moment for the long, loose scrub shirt that he'd been forced to change into after being puked on earlier that was hiding the erection that he just couldn't will away, and slipped firmly into what Jim -  _oh god, what was Jim going to say?_  - affectionately called Doctor Mode.   
  
"If it makes you uncomfortable, lieutenant, I'm willing to take your word that it's healing fine."  
  
McCoy continued with what turned out to be the single most uncomfortable examination and patient interview that he'd ever been through as a member of the medical profession. He'd thought that his first patient interview as a med school student would always be at the top of his Awkward List, or maybe that horrible evaluation where his attending physician had been standing over his shoulder while he asked a little old lady about her sex life. But no, this one even beat out that one time when Jim had - no, he really didn't ever want to think about that one again.   
  
He knew he was being overly formal, possibly making his patient uneasy, but it was the only way he was possibly going to keep his composure during this interview. He had to detach from the situation somehow. For Christ's sake, he had an erection because of his  _patient_! He couldn't even look the poor kid in the face because he  _knew_  that his traitorous brain would remind him of how those eyes had looked  _that_  night, how he  _finally_  knew the rest of the pieces to that puzzle of what his mystery man looked like!  
  
And so he focused. He viciously stamped down any thought that wasn't purely medical and related to this specific injury, kept his eyes on either the damage or the equipment he was using to repair the damage. He was relieved when the treatment was over, when he could finally tell Lieutenant Chekov to get dressed - something, his treacherous mind reminded him, that he hadn't paid attention to last time - and the young man finally got up to leave the curtained area.   
  
So when Chekov paused and turned back, McCoy thought his heart might stop.   
  
"Doctor, I..."  _Please, God, don't let him mention-_  "About... what happened... last shore leave..." Whether God was an ass or simply didn't exist was a toss-up at this point. "I... Well, we..."  
  
"Spit it out, Lieutenant." Fuck, that'd come out harsher than he'd intended. But the kid -  _yes, kid, so you really need to stop fantasizing about him_  - seemed to take strength from the use of his rank and so steeled himself to speak, eyes on McCoy instead of the floor, posture almost at attention.   
  
"We will not have a problem, yes? Working together?" McCoy kept his gaze on the PADD.  
  
"No problem here. Now get outta my Sickbay." It was his standard farewell for patients, but for some reason, this time it seemed more cruel. Out of the corner of his eye - he was most definitely  _not_  watching Chekov leave - he thought he saw something that might have been a flinch before the kid turned and walked out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've made Chekov a lieutenant since he'd most likely be promoted for quick action and creative thinking under duress for the transporter incident as well as the Saturn's moon maneuver in the movie.


	4. In Which Leonard Confronts The Immediate Aftermath of the Afternoon's Revelations

Leonard barely made it back to his office before his knees gave out. He locked the door, dropped into his chair and scrubbed his hands through his hair, elbows digging into his knees. He didn't even know where to start with how bad the revelations of the last half hour really were. He vaguely wondered if he was in some form of shock, because, instead of the panic that he was certain he  _should_  be feeling, he was just numb.  
  
The mystery man that Jim had only recently stopped teasing him about was none other than Pavel Andreievich Chekov. Leonard had not only slept wi - no, that was the wrong euphemism. Leonard had not only  _fucked_  a member of the crew, he'd  _roughly_  fucked the  _youngest_ member of the crew. He'd fucked  _a teenager_. And he'd been fantasizing, dreaming about, and masturbating to thoughts of said nineteen-year-old ever since.  
  
Leonard groaned. He felt like such a dirty old pervert. He hadn't recognized his body - that sounded horrible even in his thoughts - because he hadn't done the duty fitness physical on the then-ensign. Chekov had been assigned already to serve under Pike and so it'd been Puri who'd checked him over and M'Benga had somehow gotten him when they'd split up the crew for regular physician's visits.  
  
But ultimately, it came down to the fact that he'd picked Chekov up in a bar and - Or wait. Had he picked up Chekov? Or had Chekov picked up him? Which brought up the question: had Chekov done something like that before? And  _there_ was the panic that had been missing.  
  
Did Chekov do that sort of thing regularly? No, he couldn't. He wouldn't.  
  
Would he? Leonard couldn't really say that he knew anymore. He and Chekov had never been close but he thought he'd had a good enough read on him to think that he wouldn't risk his health by picking up strangers in a bar.  
  
But then again, after what he'd learned today, he couldn't really say that he knew the kid well enough to guess his behavior. So Chekov might do this every shore leave. That thought made him feel sick. He ignored the small voice in his head that told him that it wasn't the medical implications of Chekov's potential string of lovers that bothered him. Instead he focused on the possible physical repercussions of Chekov's unknown actions. Both of Leonard's STI panels had come back clean, but how often did Chekov get screened? Such behavior would put him at a high risk of - But no. That little voice in his head couldn't be quieted when it screamed out how unfair he was being to the young man by following that train of thought. Leonard couldn't possibly know what Chekov was thinking or how he usually behaved. And that thought bothered him more than it should.  
  
Fuck. His day couldn't possibly get worse.  
  
Then the door slid open and Jim stepped in. And Leonard decided that God did exist. He was just a cold-hearted, twisted, sadistic bastard.  
  
"Bones...? Everything okay...?" Jim was inching toward him, hands slightly out to the side, cautious expression on his face, like he was trying to talk Leonard down off of the roof of a very tall building.  
  
"What the hell are you doing here?" Screw propriety. He'd had a bad day.  
  
Jim eased his way into one of the visitor chairs. "Christine said that you haven't been answering her comms or the door chime for over an hour and a half. She was getting worried."  
  
"...And so she called  _you_?"  
  
"Well, only two people can legitimately override the CMO's privacy code." Jim's face changed from cautious to skeptical. "Would you have preferred Spock?" Maybe. At least Spock would accept a vague response without needling him for the full story. "Seriously, Bones. What's going on?" Well, look at that. His friend was even willing to skip the bullshit answer and go straight to the needling. What a great guy. Leonard couldn't stop the sigh that escaped as he slumped back into his chair.  
  
"I need to know if I'm talkin' to the captain or my best friend." Jim tilted his head in a manner that was remarkably similar to the RCA Victor dog from those old Earth ads.  
  
"Is this something that the captain should know, but you don't want to tell him?" Leonard reflexively ran his hand through his hair again.  
  
"No. It's none of the captain's goddamned business." Jim relaxed back into his seat and smiled.  
  
"Good, 'cause I already have enough paperwork to do. So, tell your best buddy what happened." Damn, Leonard really wanted to smack him sometimes. But Jim was going to find out at some point so he might as well get it out of the way when his day already sucked. He sighed again.  
  
"It was Chekov." Jim tilted his head again, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.  
  
"What was Chekov?"  _Fuck my life_.  
  
"The guy at the club. It was Chekov." Jim sat up, an unidentifiable look on his face.  
  
"Let me get this straight. You fucked Chekov." Leonard responded with a sound that was more of a groan and less of the  _yes_  that it was intended to be as he finally gave in and let his forehead hit his desk.  
  
"The guy I've been teasing about getting laid by some sexy beast of a man over shore leave?" Another groaned  _yes_. "So the sexy beast was you?" Another groan that this time didn't even come close to the word  _yes_.  
  
"I'm gonna have to talk to him now." Jim's voice had turned whiny, like it did when Leonard yelled at him for something that he either didn't want to do or didn't think was his fault. "Maybe even apologize, damn it!" Leonard brought his head up from his desk to glare at his so-called best friend.  
  
"Could you please be a little more freaked out about this?" Jim leaned back in his seat again.  
  
"Why bother? You're more than freaked out enough for the both of us." He looked smug, a smile coming onto his face. Leonard  _really_  wanted to hit him. "Besides, ultimately, I was right."  _Wait-_  
  
"What?!"  
  
"Well, I was teasing Chekov about how this guy must've damn special - which you are, whether you believe me or not - to have snagged a catch like him." The jackass was ticking his points off on his fingers! "And I've been teasing you about how your mystery man must've been smokin' hot - which, whether you like it or not, Chekov totally is. So, I was right. And how is this a bad thing? Me being right is never a bad thing!" Well, at least Jim had succeeded in getting rid of Leonard's panic. Now he was just incredulous! Jim  _had_  to be joking! How could he  _not_ see how bad this was?! How could he not get why this was a problem?!  
  
"He's  _nineteen!_ "  
  
"So? According to the Russian government  _and_  the Federation, he's been legal for three years! I don't get why you're so upset by this."  
  
"You don't -" Leonard just couldn't wrap his brain around how ridiculous that was. His friend seriously couldn't see why this bothered him? "Are you fuckin' kiddin' me? He's a kid!" Thank the God that Leonard had earlier decided was a sadist for soundproof office walls. He did not want this conversation overheard and his voice was well above his normal speaking volume. Jim's soon would be too, if the annoyed look on his face was anything to go by. Which it was, because Leonard knew the man far better than he occasionally wanted to.  
  
"Damn it, Bones!" Yep, raised voices all around. "He's not a 'kid'! He's the Chief Navigation Officer on the Federation's flagship! He's also one of our best Tactical Officers! That means he fires the - "  
  
"Dammit, Jim! I know what that means!" Leonard yelled, slamming his hands down on his desk for emphasis. Jim was sitting on the edge of his seat at this point, looking like he was ready to go ten rounds to defend Chekov. For the life of him, Leonard couldn't figure out why Jim was so pissed off about this.  
  
"If he's old enough to kill people and endanger his own life, then he's old enough to get laid! He saved my life! More than once! So get the fuck over yourself! If he seems fine with it, why aren't you?!" Leonard scoffed.  
  
"Nice how you put the killing before saving your lif-" Wrong thing to say.  
  
"Don't try to change the subject!" Jim knew him too well to let him deflect like that and Leonard should've known that. Hell, Jim was even more skilled at that than he was. "Now what is your real problem with this? Is it his age, or is it really about Joanna?"  _Oh hell no_.  
  
"Don't try to analyze me, Jim!" Jim's posture relaxed, draping himself back in his chair and crossing his legs, giving Leonard a look of disdain.  
  
"Oh please, Bones, you do it to me all the time!" His blue eyes sharpened as he stared intently at Leonard. "So it  _is_ Joanna then?" Leonard deflated. Jim was not bringing her into this. It'd be bad enough trying to look her in the face during their next vid call after having sex with a guy only  _eight years older than her_  - and one that he was pretty sure she had a crush on to boot. He let out a heavy sigh and sat back in his own seat. He was way too young to feel this old.  
  
"...I'm old enough to be his father." Jesus, that sounded even worse when he said it out loud."You don't see something wrong with that?" Jim scoffed, but kept his serious expression.  
  
"No. But, then again, I don't have a father."  
  
"Jim-" The blond apparently wasn't going to let Leonard even touch that subject right now.   
  
"Bones, I'm going to say this once, so listen up." Leonard found himself straightening and paying attention in spite of himself. This was one of the qualities that made the man such a good captain - the ability to command attention. "There's nothing wrong with the age difference. He's old enough to know what he wants and he's smart enough to know what he's getting into. As far as I know, he doesn't have any daddy issues, and I know that you don't want me to say this, but I don't think you have to worry about Joanna having any either."  
  
Leonard appreciated Jim trying to comfort him by saying those things. He really did. But this wasn't about Joanna. It wasn't about him worrying that without her father's influence Joanna would end up with low self-confidence and find herself in the arms of an older man, trying to fill the void left by her absent father. Though the very idea made him twitch, he didn't really worry about that. She was a smart girl, she knew how much he loved her, and Jocelyn, however badly his relationship with her had ended, was a good mother. He wasn't even really worried that it was transference on Chekov's part. There had never been anything in his behavior to suggest that, just as there hadn't been anything to suggest that he wanted anything more than a quick fuck, as far as Leonard could tell. No, this was about an innocent - well, not so innocent actually - brilliant kid with a bright future in Starfleet getting mixed up with an old, crotchety divorcé with aviophobia and a drinking problem. It was about Chekov deserving better. Leonard just had no idea why Chekov had approached him. No mask was going to hide who he was to anyone who had met him, which meant...  
  
"...He knew who I was the whole time..." Shit, Leonard just didn't want to think anymore. "I just don't get it." Jim let out a sigh and leveled him with a look of fond exasperation.  
  
"Look, just because you don't see yourself as a good catch, doesn't mean you're not. And I don't have time to talk about your shitty self-image right now - " Leonard couldn't keep himself from snorting.  _Pot and kettle, Jim._  " - because I'm supposed to call Pike in five minutes. Just know this, you're one of the few people on this ship that I wouldn't beat the shit out of for screwing around with my navigator." _Screwing around? Jesus, Jim, it was the one time!_ Jim stood from his chair and shrugged. "I don't see what the big deal is anyway. It was a one-night-stand. You can't change the past so just don't let it happen again, if it freaks you out this much."  
  
Leonard thought about that after Jim left. Sure, that was easy for Jim to say. He didn't know what had been going on in Leonard's head ever since that night - and how guilty he felt about it now that he knew who the focus of his thoughts, dreams and fantasies had been. But even as he thought about how easy it would be to follow Jim's advice of not letting "it" happen again, he couldn't completely convince himself that he didn't want to have that man - to have Chekov - in that way again. And that bothered him more than he wanted to admit.


	5. In Which Leonard Is Forced To Acknowledge Certain Truths

Leonard may not have admitted it to anyone else, but he was adult enough to admit to himself that he was avoiding Chekov. It was easier said than done. He'd never realized just how much of his free time was spent in his presence. Chekov was part of the alpha shift Bridge Crew, Jim spent a lot of time with the alpha shift, Leonard spent a lot of time with Jim, and therefore, Leonard spent a lot of time with Chekov. Not unwillingly, mind you, but he'd never realised before just how often he found himself sitting next to and listening to Chekov chatter on with whomever about whatever.   
  
The two weeks after that disastrous afternoon in Sickbay, it had been easy. There'd been an outbreak of the Denevian flu and he'd spent every waking minute in Sickbay, either tending to patients, vaccinating the idiots who hadn't thought the words "strongly recommended" were important when getting their vaccinations before they shipped out, and then arguing with the even bigger idiots at Starfleet who had decided that the vaccine for the Denevian flu should be "optional" to begin with. That little fiasco had actually taken his mind completely off of the problem with Chekov. He'd been too busy to think about anything else and he'd been too tired to dream at night. But he'd also been too intelligent to think that the problem was solved.  
  
After two and a half weeks of a nurse bringing him his meals while he worked or simply forgetting to eat, the mess hall seemed like a foreign place when Leonard and an equally exhausted Geoffrey M'Benga walked in after what had been their last shift before they each got a full, blissful,  _mandatory_  48 hours off. They both managed to get their food and drop unceremoniously into their seats opposite each other at an empty table before Leonard realized that Chekov, Sulu and Uhura were sitting directly in his line of sight.  
  
Leonard tried to focus on what Geoff was saying, but his eyes, traitors that they were, kept shifting over Geoff's shoulder to look at Chekov. He looked different from the last time Leonard saw him. He looked tired and a little paler than normal, which made sense because he'd probably been covering Ensign Veit's shift at the nav console while the ensign was ill. But that wasn't all. He seemed... subdued. His smile wasn't as bright...  
  
Jesus, he couldn't even blame his assessment on being an observant physician. Physicians didn't have their patients' smiles catalogued in their minds. Leonard wanted to smack himself or maybe bury his face in his replicated pudding and drown. He was acting like a teenage girl with a crush. This realization was only made worse by the oh-so-unhelpful thought supplied by his brain wondering if Joanna had a crush on anyone... ya know,  _other_ than  _Chekov._  Thankfully, Leonard remembered where he was and who he was sitting with before allowing his head to slam into the tabletop and allowing the disgusted groan to escape from his throat. Unfortunately, he didn't remember in time to stop staring inappropriately at a nineteen-year-old before Geoff noticed that Leonard wasn't exactly paying attention to their conversation.  
  
"Leonard?" Leonard's hazel eyes snapped up to meet Geoff's concerned ones. "You feeling okay? You look a bit flushed."   
  
Aw, hell. Leonard could feel his face heat even more. He was thirty-three years old! That should be too old to blush, damn it!   
  
"You have been vaccinated for the denevian flu, right?"  _Oh, fuck my life_. All embarrassment fled in the face of that statement. His eyes narrowed and an eyebrow raised in derision as Geoff continued an impromptu patient interview. He might be too tired to control his thought processes about a certain lieutenant, but he wasn't too tired to be indignant. By the time Geoff had moved on to  _lecturing_  his _superior office_  about "setting a good example for the crew", he was beyond caring about the impoliteness of interrupting and just raised his voice over Geoff's own bass.  
  
"Geoff, I just  _yelled_ at an  _admiral_ about makin' that vaccine  _mandatory_! How much of a hypocrite do you think I am?!" His lack of sleep had made his drawl thicker and he'd never seen Geoff shut up so quickly since he'd met him. He'd also never heard a quieter mess hall since he got on board. There was normally always a low hum of noise unless it was empty; it wasn't empty. No, everyone was just looking at him - including a wide-eyed, startled Lieutenant Chekov.   
  
And when his traitorous brain noticed the slight color on Chekov's cheeks, Leonard decided it would be a good time to make a strategic retreat.  
  
"I'm too tired for this shit, I'm eatin' in my quarters." After a muttered "see ya tomorra, Geoff," he left.   
  
It was after this incident that Leonard decided to actively avoid Chekov. He started to eat alone, at times when the alpha shift Bridge Crew would usually either be on-duty, or otherwise occupied. Unfortunately, avoiding Chekov meant avoiding Jim, and oddly, Jim seemed to be letting him - he seemed to be giving him some space even. Walking into the mess hall late one evening, he saw Jim and Chekov in a secluded corner quietly having what looked like a very serious conversation - a very serious conversation that made Jim look over at him warily when he walked in. After that, he started to only go to the mess to get his food and then return to his office to do administrative work or research.  
  
Truly, with the Chief Medical Officer's near-constant supervision, the medical bay had never run more smoothly or been so on top of all of the little official minutiae. And the medical research that was being done on the flagship was progressing rather quickly for the course of an entire month. However, the medical staff themselves had never been so agitated either. Their noble leader was a gruff perfectionist even on a good day - to have him popping up unannounced and unscheduled at any time of the day and, even worse, to not have the captain stopping by regularly to lighten the man up a bit, was starting to make the nurses and technicians a little paranoid. But with their Head Nurse looking more confused than annoyed and even Dr. M'Benga walking on eggshells around the man, no one was going to say anything.  
  
And throughout it all, the dreams continued. But they didn't just continue - they expanded. They were no longer about sex - well,  _just_  sex. Now that he had a face, a voice, a  _personality_  to put with that body, that feeling, that  _desire_ , he couldn't stop the thoughts and images that flowed through his unconscious mind. And truthfully, he didn't want to. Those dreams and fantasies of his subconscious left him with a feeling of comfort and contentment that he hadn't felt in so long. Instead of waking with the echoes of moans and sweat-slick skin, he woke with the memory of soft sighs and a warm, firm body wrapped in his arms. Yes, he still dreamt of that voice screaming his name, but now it had a Russian accent, and he also dreamt of quiet laughs and whispered conversations. And most importantly, he had a dream of bringing a young man home to Georgia.   
  
While it may be argued that dream analysis is total crap, a man doesn't get a degree in psychology and go through years of grief counseling and marital counseling without learning how to analyze his feelings. And so analyze he did. He knew that this behavior was unhealthy and that it would be impossible for him to avoid Chekov forever. They didn't just work on the same ship together, they had the same friends, went to the same movie nights, celebrated the same birthdays, weddings and promotions. Hell, before that damn nightclub McCoy would've gone so far to say that he was fond of the kid - in a completely friendly manner. But now, because of the events of that night and what had happened after, McCoy was forced to look at every interaction they'd ever had, analyze everything that he could remember to see if maybe, somehow, he should've expected this, should've seen it coming.  
  
And as he was trying to sift through memories, looking for interactions and conversations between himself and Chekov, he realized that he remembered more about the kid that he'd thought he would. He remembered eating meals with the bridge crew and Chekov and Jim saving him a seat between them. He remembered laughing with Chekov over the tiny prank war that Jim and Sulu had indulged in for a few days. He remembered keeping each other company next the biobed-side of Jim or Sulu or even Spock many times after disastrous away missions and emergency surgeries. He remembered the conversation they'd had when the kid had come to him when his mother was undergoing testing and then surgery on Earth, asking for a more thorough explanation of the procedure and his opinion as a doctor on the whole business. It had been a relatively simple case and McCoy had been happy to give the boy some comfort. They'd sat and shared stories about their mothers and growing up and Chekov had left his office with less worry on his young shoulders and more spring in his step. He'd then even thanked McCoy after his mother's successful surgery, as though McCoy had had anything to do with it at all.  
  
And Jim may have tried to reassure him about the safety of the transporters, but it had been Chekov who had sat down with him in the mess hall one evening with a stack of PADDs in one hand, his meal in the other and done his best to explain in that adorable (yes, even then McCoy had thought it was adorable) accent of his exactly how the transporters worked and why they were determined as safe for use on sentient beings. He'd been extraordinarily patient, answering all of Leonard's questions, not getting angry when Leonard argued a point, and they'd spent hours debating the state of the conscious and subconscious mind during transport, which had led to debating the theory of solipsism, the existence of the soul, and whether or not the transporter was capable of transporting a non-tangible pseudo-entity that may or may not exist. McCoy still hated the very idea of transporters, but that had been one of the most enlightening and pleasant discussions that he'd had in a long time. And, whenever it was Chekov manning the console, McCoy was even willing to transport without bitching about it - much. And he had to admit that, whenever it was Chekov smiling softly at him from the controls, he felt a little more secure with the whole process.  
  
He had even more memories of the young man - and all of that was part of the problem. Chekov's laughter, Chekov's kindness, Chekov's patience, Chekov's brilliance, Chekov's enthusiasm, Chekov's smile... He knew what Chekov looked like when he was sad, happy, worried, scared, in pain, enthused, or just so far into his head being brilliant that he forgot where he was and chattered on in a stream of consciousness that was nearly impossible to follow. He knew that Chekov's mother was an excellent cook, and that she was the parent who had given Chekov his gift for numbers. He knew that when Chekov was 10, his mother and father had helped him chart out a star system on his ceiling in glow-in-the-dark paint. Leonard knew that he couldn't recall that much about anyone else on board except for Jim and Christine, and he'd known them far longer.  
  
Which just led him to another part of the problem. While Leonard may occasionally be a bit dense (as this thought process was proving to him), he wasn't an idiot. And once he actually thought about it, he realized what all of this unfortunately pointed to: he'd been falling in love with Pavel Andreievich Chekov long before he had ever seen his bared skin or felt his body shudder under his hands. It had been happening so slowly that he hadn't even noticed. Maybe he hadn't noticed because he'd never thought about him sexually before - how could he? He saw him as a kid. And better men than he had mistaken romantic affection for friendly fondness. But what had happened that night in the club had clinched it, had opened that door and there was no closing it now.  
  
And that realization led to the eye of this whole shit-storm: as far as he could tell, nothing in Chekov's behavior indicated that he'd ever wanted or would want anything more than friendship from Leonard.  
  
Why the hell would he? This was the time in Chekov's life where he  _should_ be out exploring and making bad decisions and having one-night-stands. It was the only time in his life that he'd be able to get away with it, blaming any stupidity - not that there was a stupid atom in the kid's whole body, but still the excuse was there - on his youth. That philosophy seemed to be working out for Sulu and Jim (as a doctor, McCoy would  _never_  admit that to them - no sense in them thinking he was encouraging that sort of behavior) even though Leonard himself had never followed that path. And while he had never thought he'd ever want to get into a serious relationship and settle down again, he couldn't imagine feeling truly comfortable with any other arrangement. It wouldn't be fair of him to ask that of a nineteen-year-old even if Chekov returned his feelings. They were simply at different stages in life - it was to be expected. Such different ages had different wants, desires, and expectations both for others and for life. Everyone changed as they got older, that much was inevitable. Hell, starting too young and growing apart had been just one reason on the list of a multitude of problems that had led to the failure of his first marriage. If Chekov settled down now, he might well regret it later, especially with someone from a completely different age bracket.   
  
There was no reason for Leonard to even be entertaining this possibility, because it wasn't even a _possibility_. It wasn't that Chekov was too young for him; McCoy was just too old. Chekov was a brilliant young man with bright career in Starfleet ahead of him; he didn't need to be weighed down by an old, cynical divorcé; who hated space and whose daughter was closer to Chekov's age than McCoy was. Maybe someday Chekov would find someone to spend the rest of his life with - it just wouldn't be him.


	6. In Which Leonard Brings It Upon Himself

No one really reacted when Leonard returned to eating with the Alpha Bridge Crew. He wasn’t sure if Jim had said something to their mutual friends, or if they were simply not mentioning his previous odd behavior on their own. The only change was Chekov. He no longer sat next to Len, instead already sitting between Uhura and Sulu by the time Leonard and Christine arrived. The younger man barely even looked at him now, and as much as Leonard missed the rapid-fire speech to his left, he had to acknowledge that it was for the best.  
  
But the brightness that the young Russian usually spread to the rest of the table was subdued. Leonard wasn’t the only one to notice it either; Uhura was subtly hovering over her friend, practically ignoring the half-Vulcan at her side and trying to engage Chekov in conversation, attempting to make him smile or laugh. She must have noticed Leonard’s attention because her gaze occasionally flickered over to him before she’d renew her efforts to bring her dear friend back to his bubbly self, but even Sulu’s efforts had no effect.  
  
At least Leonard could be comforted by the fact that Uhura seemed to know what was going on, even if Sulu seemed a little lost regarding the cause for Chekov’s behavior. He kept cracking his usual (bad) jokes that made everyone who heard him groan, but instead of the bright, clear laugh they would usually get, the answering smile was obviously dimmed.  
  
Leonard had apparently missed something during his absence, but since no one else mentioned a thing or seemed inclined to discuss what was ailing their navigator, he decided to just let it go and let the young trio handle it on their own.  
  
///\\\\\  
  
The day had already been difficult, something that seemed to be happening with more frequency since that night, which already seemed so long ago, but that he could remember like it had only happened yesterday. He was awakened a full two hours before shift for an emergency, and the shift had just dragged on with massive amounts of paperwork, broken up by only a few actual patients.  
  
His day was looking up as he headed back to his quarters - one of the perks of being an interplanetary hero was a weekly phone call with his little girl. But when the call went through, it was his ex-wife sitting at the screen. She informed him that not only did she have a new relationship, but that it had gotten serious enough that she’d be introducing her new beau to their daughter next weekend.  
  
“Robert Eames.” She nodded. He’d heard correctly. “Robert Eames, the head of the neurosurgery department at Atlanta General?” Another nod. “Jocelyn, you’re dating the man who was my attending during my residency?!”  
  
His ex-wife let out an exasperated sigh. “He’s a good man. He’s also divorced and has children of his own-”  
  
“ _Grown_  children. The oldest one is -” …  _nineteen. Fuck._  
  
She ignored his interruption. “He has a solid job-” That one hurt. “- good social standing-”  
  
“By which you mean rich.”  
  
She glared at him for that one. “Yes, Leonard. He can provide both me  _and your daughter_  with a stability that you nev-” It was a good thing she stopped herself, because Leonard wasn’t sure what he’d do if she’d continued that well-used argument from years past, the very one she’d used against him in the mediation during their divorce. They were both silent for a moment and Jocelyn took a deep breath, releasing it slowly (another thing that reminded him of the divorce proceedings), before continuing. “I thought it would help that you know him already.”  
  
He scrubbed a hand over his face, sure of how tired he must look as he responded. “It does and it doesn’t.”  
  
She was right. Robert was a good man. He was someone Leonard could trust with Joanna’s well-being and someone whom Leonard couldn’t bring himself to hate, even if he was taking what had once been Leonard’s rightful place.  
  
“Jocelyn...” The next words were out of his mouth before they’d even registered in his own mind, “... He’s fourteen years older than you are.”  
  
The reality of those words hit him, and his mouth went dry.  
  
Her response of “Leonard, that’s not-” was interrupted by a loud knock on the door to the room she was in and a clear, sweet voice rang through the call.  
  
“Mama! You’ve had him long enough! I wanna talk to Daddy now!” Leonard had to smile at the tone - just two years ago and it would’ve been accompanied by an impatient foot stamp and a chubby-cheeked pout.  
  
After that, he’d been allowed his call with his daughter - who’d asked about Chekov, of all people, and with a sparkle in her eyes and a blush on her cheeks that pretty much confirmed his suspicions of a crush. He didn’t even try to talk Joanna out of her little infatuation either, as she asked questions and he responded as diplomatically as possible. What was he supposed to say?  _Sorry, sweetie, if Daddy had his way, Chekov would be your stepfather, not your boyfriend, but neither of us is going to get what we want._  
  
The good mood that had developed while listening to Jojo ramble and gripe about school and then chatter on excitedly about friends evaporated in an instant. And this was how life had been going - he’d just manage to forget about his problems with Chekov, and then somehow he’d be reminded of how much a part of his life the young man was. After the connection terminated, he was a second away from beating his head against his desk when the call came in that he should head to Sickbay.  
  
Being on call was inherently unpleasant, and being both the CMO and a workaholic, McCoy found himself on it more often than he probably should have been. But with an accident-prone captain like theirs, he just didn’t want to risk not being notified immediately. In fact, with such a young and inexperienced crew, McCoy just expected that he’d be called in during any time they may have on a space station or planet.  
  
So he’d anticipated being paged when they had a few days on Starbase 193. But when he walked into the curtained area, he wasn’t expecting to see a well-dressed Lieutenant Chekov seated bloody and bruised on the biobed.  _Goddamnit._  
  
Standing next to him, holding his hand in both of hers, was Ensign Sadira David, the second youngest member of their crew, her petite form wrapped in a knee-length black dress with a shawl over her shoulders, a few curls escaping from where her dark hair was pulled into some kind of up-do. They looked like a young couple who’d been interrupted during a night out on the town - and it made Leonard seethe with jealousy.  
  
There may have been nothing he could do to stop the possessive streak flowing through him, but he could at least keep it from showing, or at least from showing too much. He squared his shoulders, took a breath, grabbed a PADD and pulled up the on-duty nurse’s prelim eval and walked to stand in front of his patient.  
  
Neither of them looked his way as he walked towards them. Their heads were tilted toward each other and they continued to whisper words Leonard couldn’t hear. Ensign David was obviously agitated, occasionally reaching up to carefully move a curl away from a cut on Chekov’s forehead or smoothing an antiseptic gauze pad over the split skin on his knuckles, squeezing his hands gently in sympathy when he hissed in pain.  
  
As he watched them talking, he could feel a weight settle into his gut and his hands tense around the PADD and stylus. It was more than he had ever heard Ensign David say in the entire time that he’d known her through the Sciences department. And after the conversations he’d just had, Leonard just didn’t need this right now.  
  
“Can I help you, Ensign David?” Her gaze snapped to his, her big brown eyes making her look like an adorable baby deer -  _as always_  - and when she answered, he barely refrained from snapping at her.  
  
“I’m just here to make sure Pasha is okay...?” Normally, Leonard appreciated David’s soft alto tones when he encountered her in the lab, but today, hearing her say  _Pasha_  - it grated on his eardrums. And her intonation made it sound like a question, which usually annoyed him anyway, but today it made him want to chuck her out the airlock. Or maybe that impulse was directly related to the fact that she was still latched onto Chekov, but Leonard was currently ignoring any part of his brain spouting rationality like that.  
  
“Are you family?” His gaze latched firmly back onto the PADD in his hand, not needing to see the reaction either of them had.  
  
“Well, no. But-” God, he did not want to hear what came after that.  
  
“Then get the hell out of my Sickbay,  _Ensign_.” Leonard didn’t need to look up to see the young woman looking at him like he’d just strangled a puppy - he’d seen her do that to Spock once when he’d nixed a project. It hadn’t changed anything then and it wouldn’t change anything now. He only glanced up for a moment when he actually  _felt_  eyes on him, and he was met with the only glare he’d ever seen on Pavel Chekov’s face. Cold as ice and deadly as steel.  
  
A look like that had never been directed at Leonard before, not even from his ex-wife - his body tensed reflexively as if to ward off an attack. Leonard almost felt guilty. Almost. Then Chekov softened his gaze as he looked back at David with care in his eyes - Leonard’s guilt vanished.  
  
“I’m fine, Sadira. Just head back to your room. I’ll meet you there later, okay?” Leonard would just ignore the vicious little voice in his head whispering about all of the things that sentence could imply, becoming more suggestive with each possibility and mixing with what he already knew about what Chekov could - and would, apparently - do. Instead, he was firmly holding onto his impression of David as “not that kind of girl.”  
  
If they kissed before she left, Leonard was pretty sure he was going to break what he was holding.  
  
As it was, he kept his sight firmly on the information contained within the PADD, not daring to watch whatever sickening display of affection was being carried out in front of him. The fact that Chekov had blatantly stated that they were meeting  _later_  - when it was already evening - and  _in her room_  was more than enough to make him clench his teeth and feel like a hole was opening in his chest.  
  
His teeth were still clenched after he heard the curtain swish closed and her footsteps crossed the medical bay. Leonard began his scans and his poking and prodding of the sullen-looking Lieutenant in as professional a manner as possible, but he couldn’t quite keep a derisive tone from his voice.  
  
“Well, never a boring leave for you, is there?”  
  
He was met with silence. This was really gonna suck.  
  
He looked up from the PADD and set it down on the cart beside the biobed. Chekov was just sitting on the edge, fiddling with the cuffs of his shirt, looking for all the world like a little kid who’d gotten into a fight in the schoolyard and was now sitting in the nurse’s office, waiting for his mom to come pick him up. His eyebrows were slightly lowered and his mouth was pinched; it was amazing how the look of belligerence sat the same way on a five-year-old face and a nineteen-year-old one.  
  
“So what happened?” This time, he moved closer to palpate the contusions on the young man’s face, tilting his head up and forcing Chekov to look at him. The heated look in those grey-green eyes was surprisingly and uncomfortably familiar to the challenging look he’d received at the bar, but the tensed features of his face changed it into something harsh and unyielding, though just as dangerous to Leonard’s rationality as it had been before.  
  
Looking straight into Leonard’s eyes, Chekov remained silent.  
  
This was getting ridiculous. “I really don’t have time for this shit. I expect a full answer when I ask you a question, Lieutenant, and a full answer is what I will get.” Chekov could be as angry with Leonard as he wanted - though the very idea hurt - but this was still a medical examination and Leonard needed information to go with what he was seeing with his eyes and with the biobed’s scans.  
  
“There was a fight between myself and three others. I won. What else is there to know?”  
  
Jesus. The kid sounded every bit the part of a sullen teenager, voice flat yet petulant like he’d never heard from Chekov before. And  _shit_. He really was just a teenager, no matter how much Leonard wanted to ignore that fact. He’d been reminded of it repeatedly that day and it just reinforced the conviction that he was a dirty old man.  
  
“Is there any reason why this fight occurred?” He tried to focus on the adhesive he was applying to close the cut on Chekov’s forehead instead of any thoughts unrelated to the medical situation at hand.  
  
He was unfortunately not at all surprised when he was met by more silence.  
  
There was nothing he could do for the bruises and he could only recommend an ice pack for the swollen eye, but there weren’t any orbital fractures so that was something at least. The split lip would have to heal on its own. “Lieutenant?”  
  
“Is that relevant to my treatment?”  
  
 _Well, fuck_. No, it wasn’t relevant; it was just Leonard being nosy. But he sure as hell wasn’t going to tell Chekov that. Shit, Leonard really needed to get his head in the game. This was a medical interview with a patient. It was none of Leonard’s business what he’d been doing before the fight - just like it was none of his business what he would be doing after he left Sickbay. Even if Leonard was curious. Though he wasn’t entirely sure that he’d want to know, after what he’d overheard earlier.  
  
But Chekov was right - this was supposed to be just business. Caring, but ultimately impersonal.  
  
“Anywhere hurt other than your face and your fists?” He’d probably need to do a weave or some derm regen on the young man’s knuckles - it wouldn’t do to have a navigator with stiff hands.  
  
“I am fine.” Damn it, it was like an examination with Jim. All of these Command types had a disturbing definition of  _fine_.  
  
“That’s not what I asked.” He’d heard the word  _fine_  applied to cuts, torn tendons, and even a broken arm once. Idiots, all of them.  
  
Chekov looked away for a moment, obviously refraining from saying something, though only God knew what. He seemed to have decided on something and his gaze remained firmly on the floor, a slight blush rising on his bruised cheeks as he slowly unbuttoned the stiff fabric of his bloodied shirt.  
  
At the sight of what had been hidden underneath, Leonard immediately rushed forward, pushing the sides of the shirt farther out of the way to get a better look at the deep black, blue, and purple bruise that was covering the right side of Chekov’s ribcage. It stretched from nipple to hip, from his navel stretching far enough around that Leonard couldn’t see it in its entirety from his current viewpoint.  _Fine, my ass_. The kid probably had a broken rib or two and this is what he called fine?!  
  
Chekov’s blush spread further down his neck and chest as he caught sight of the look Leonard was giving him - one that clearly expressed how much of an idiot Leonard thought he was right now. As Leonard turned away to grab a scanner from the cart, he couldn’t help muttering under his breath at the stupidity of the people - the children! - that he was constantly surrounded by.  
  
“God damn it,” he continued grumbling. “This is why they shouldn’t allow kids into Starfleet; they can’t ...”  
  
“Excuse me?”  
  
Chekov’s tone was low and dangerous, and McCoy turned back to see that horrible glare back on his face and his strong fingers gripping the edge of the bed. “What?”  
  
“I’m not a kid.” Oh please. That’s was this was about?  
  
“You’re nineteen. Of course you’re a kid.” He really hadn’t meant that so sound as dismissive as it did, but there was no way he could take it back now that it was past his lips.  
  
Chekov snapped.  
  
“I am not a kid!” He leaned abruptly forward, body tense and eyes flashing and accusatory. “Why does everyone keep saying that?! Do you know when I graduated from high school?! When I was eleven! I had three BAs -  _three_  - by the time I entered Starfleet Academy at  _fourteen_! Tell me, what had you accomplished by fourteen,  _Doctor McCoy?_ ”  
  
Holy shit. Leonard was stunned, the scanner hanging limply in his hand and Chekov’s voice rose in a crescendo, tempo quickening and accent thickening, but Leonard could still understand every single word in a speech that sounded like it’d been building for a while. When Leonard opened his mouth to respond, Chekov shot off the bed, leaning into Leonard’s space as he continued.  
  
“All my life, people have treated me like a child, even though I never got to  _be_  a child!” The sound of his voice was easily carrying over the rest of the medical area and around the edge of the curtain, McCoy could see activity pause and eyes turn toward the sound of Chekov’s yelling.  
  
“I have legally been an adult since I entered the Academy five years ago, and I have more than earned the right to be treated like one.” Chekov’s accented tenor quieted and turned into calm, clear, deadly ice.  
  
“I am a Lieutenant on the flagship of the Federation and you will treat me with the respect that I have earned,  _Lieutenant Commander_.” He spat out Leonard’s rank like it was the worst insult he could think of, somehow making it sound like the retributions that Leonard had heard from superior officers regarding his usually insubordinate behavior. It almost made him snap to attention as the still-bruised and bloody, half-dressed young officer turned sharply on his heel and stalked out of Sickbay.  
  
Before he left the silent medical area, shocked eyes following him from all sides, he looked back over his shoulder with one more righteous glare and left a final remark:  
  
“And you of all people,  _Leonard_ , should know that I am  _not_  a  _kid_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you all can pretty much thank likethdirection for the fact that this chapter is finished. You can probably thank her for all future updates as well, since she’s been awesome enough to light a batch of fireworks under my ass. XD She’s the best, for reals. She’ll be poking and prodding me on the next chapter, too, so it won’t take nearly as long as this one did... That and I don’t have to write a fight in the next chapter - that will definitely help.


	7. In Which Leonard Hates Himself A Little More (Than Usual)

Leonard rarely had reason to actually go into Jim’s Ready Room, but every time he did, he just walked right in. Jim never locked his door unless there was personal or seriously high security shit going down. And every time he entered, Leonard was amazed by how professional and important Jim managed to look.  
  
Like other times, his desk was covered with PADDs requiring his attention, but this time, Jim was turned to the vid screen, not even glancing at Leonard as he finished his call.  
  
“-ank you again, Commodore. I really appreciate this. And I’m sorry we’re leaving behind such a mess.” He had his polite work-smile on, but Len could see the tension around his eyes.  
  
“I’m happy to help, Captain. And it’s been a while since I got to bring anyone up on charges other than drunk and disorderly.” Ah, Commodore Harkness from the station they were at. Leonard definitely recognized that voice, a baritone belonging to man far too young for his position, but more than qualified - much like the man sitting at the captain’s desk.  
  
And the commodore had a way of putting his favorite people at ease and Leonard could hear the tension seep just a little out of Jim’s voice as his smile grew a little more real - and a little more wicked. “Well, if they give you any trouble, just remind them how lucky they are that I’m not dealing with them personally.”   
  
“Will do, Captain,” the commodore laughed. “Smooth sailing to you.”  
  
“Thank you, sir. Kirk out.”  
  
“Please tell me you have good news.” With how annoyed and tired the poor kid looked, Leonard almost wanted to soften the blow a little - but then again, he’d had a bad day, too.  
  
“When have I ever come in here with good news?” Good news was more of a Jim’s quarters thing than a Captain’s Ready Room thing. Jim sighed and slumped back in his chair.  
  
“Well, a man can hope.” He scrubbed a hand over his face and let out another sigh. “It’s just- This has been such a bitch. I mean, seriously, after all the shit they’ve put me through they have the balls to do _this_?” Leonard heaved his own sigh. This was obviously something that Jim needed to vent about, and if the captain couldn’t vent to his best friend and physician, who could he?  
  
“Who’s ‘they’?”  
  
“Fuckin’ Azimio, Brand, and Terence.” Ah... The nurses had nicknamed them ‘The Bad Touch Trio’ and Leonard knew that Jim got more complaints about them than about anyone else. Many of them were minor, some of them were dropped, but mostly they’d resulted in being skipped over promotion. In all three cases, the only reasons Jim hadn’t booted them yet was because they were damn good at their jobs.  
  
“What the hell did they do now?” Len really hoped this didn’t mean he needed to head back to Sickbay.  
  
“Did you know it’s Yom Kippur?”  
  
“What now?” It sounded familiar, but Leonard couldn’t remember what the hell it was. Or why it was relevant.  
  
“It’s one of the Jewish High Holy Days. Anyway, apparently there’s a temple on the station and Sadira - you know her, right?” Jim didn’t even pause for an answer - he already knew who Leonard knew by name and who he didn’t. Leonard sometimes even wondered why Jim asked that kind of question. But what did Ensign David have to do with all of this? A thought started niggling at the back of Leonard’s mind as Jim continued.  
  
“Anyway, those three idiots were walking along the Promenade and saw her there - and they’ve harassed her before. She never let me take the charges farther than a reprimand, which I will never understand. I mean, she’s so pretty and tiny, I’m not surprised that she’s a target, and I know she doesn’t like attention and all, but I really wanted to throw their asses in the brig for a couple of those.”  
  
Leonard didn’t know how or why, but Jim and several other members of the crew were complete softies when it came to Sadira. She was young and her looks and her quiet demeanor made her look even younger, but protocol was protocol, damn it. Those three should’ve been written up each time. Spock had even bitched (as much as Spock ever “bitched”) to him once about Ensign David insisting on letting it slide. She just hated having a fuss made over her, is all, and Leonard thought it was bullshit.  
  
“Well, they started crowding her and mouthing off, and according to some witnesses, it got pretty suggestive. But I guess they didn’t expect Chekov to really stand up for her, which is astoundingly stupid, even for them-”  
  
“Chekov was there?” Jim looked at him like he’d just asked if Earth’s sky was blue.  
  
“Uh, yeah. Chekov’s Jewish; they were headed there together. Didn’t you know that?”  
  
Leonard paled and dropped into a visitor’s chair in front of Jim’s desk.  
  
“He went up against  _those three_?!” How the hell did he look so good? Those guys were built like linebackers and as vicious as a pack of pitbulls. Leonard had patched up victims from a few fights with them before. How was Chekov not bleeding on the floor, missing teeth, limbs bent at odd angles? He was  _tiny_  compared to them! Leonard didn’t know if he should be even more worried about Chekov’s ribs or if he should be pissed off at him for being dumb enough to try to take on those mammoths.  
  
“Of course he did! Sadira’s been picked on enough, and it’s even worse that they were headed to a religious ceremony!” Jim was really getting into his story-telling, gesturing and getting an excited look on his face - they must have been getting to whatever Jim thought was the climax. “And you know what kind of mouth Chekov has on him when he’s angry-” Well, he hadn’t known before but he certainly did now.  
  
“Anyway, he apparently says something that really pisses Azimio off and the dumbass threw a punch - at a superior officer, no less!”  
  
Well, today was just full of insubordination, now, wasn’t it? “Wait, Azimio threw the first punch?”  
  
Jim actually laughed, a grin spreading across his face. “He totally missed! I saw the security tapes! Chekov’s like a fuckin’ ninja, Bones! Guy’s a total badass and I never knew.” He was leaning forward in his chair now to rest his elbows on his desk. “I mean, he kicked their asses! I know that I shouldn’t condone fighting or reward Chekov for winning, but holy shit! It was amazing!”  
  
In the midst of Jim’s continued fangirling, he offered to let Leonard see the video of the fight, not really listening when Len said he didn’t want to see them and pulling up the footage anyway.  
  
The cameras on the promenade had managed to get a remarkably good view of the area in which the fight occurred. Jim had skipped to the part where Chekov intervened, opening on the sight of Chekov squared off against Azimio, a good six inches shorter than each of his opponents, but glaring up at them like they were dirt under his polished dress shoes.  
  
“Step away, Azimio.”  
  
David tried to grab Chekov’s arm in an attempt to pull him away from her assailants. “Pasha, d-” He shrugged her off as gently as he could and kept his eyes on the three in front of him.  
  
“Aw...” Azimio chuckled, glancing back at his goon squad before leaning in a little, continuing in a baby voice that made Leonard want to slap the British accent right out of him. “Is ickle  _Pasha_  going to try to protect his pwecious girlfriend?”  
  
“You have no right to call me that, Azimio. Now  _step away_.” Really, no one should be able to seem that intimidating when facing down three men who were as broad as silver-back gorillas. The camera gave a good view of the tilt to Chekov’s raised chin and the glint in his eye and he stared Azimio down.  
  
“And if I don’t?” Azimio straightened to his full height, chest puffed out, trying to seem frightening when Chekov just looked annoyed. Leonard could see Chekov’s jaw clench - much like it had in Sickbay when he’d apparently been trying to refrain from ripping Len a new one - as he glanced to the side towards Sadira. He took a breath and grabbed her hand, trying to go around the trio, having obviously decided that avoidance was the best strategy at this point. Those idiot behemoths simply side-stepped, blocking the pair’s path completely.  
  
“We just wanted to have a little fun.” Sweet Jesus, could Brand possibly sound like more of a creeper? If Jim’s commentary was any indication, he would’ve written his ass up just for that if Starfleet would’ve let him.  
  
“Yeah, show her a good time.” Those two sounded like they were going to pick the poor girl up and shove her in the back of a sketchy, windowless van! No wonder the girl had been even more twitchy than usual in Sickbay. Leonard could feel the guilt building in his gut.  
  
Chekov was surrounded. He had Sadira protected behind him, Azimio in front, and Tweedle-Dum and Tweedle-Dipshit on either side. “Let us pass. We have somewhere to be.” The camera just caught a glimpse of his free hand, clenched into a fist at his side.  
  
“Oh. Have you got reservations somewhere nice?” When Azimio leaned in, Chekov perceptively leaned back, nose crinkling in a way that Leonard shouldn’t have found adorable, especially when he was about to beat someone’s face in. “Gonna hold hands? Maybe even kiss her goodnight? Have her home by curfew?  _Kids like you_  should just step aside and let a real man take her out. I mean, really, how much fun can she have with someone whose balls haven’t even dropped yet?”  
  
On the screen, Chekov’s face turned red and when Leonard caught Jim’s glance at him and his following (thankfully comment-less) smirk, Leonard was pretty sure that his own face matched.  
  
“You’ll watch your mouth, Azimio. Especially in front of Sadira. Today is not the day to push me.” Chekov let go of Sadira’s hand in favor of guiding her further away from the tense situation so that she couldn’t hear what was being said and taking half a step towards the man that he looked like he wanted to pummel.  
  
“Aw... Come on,  _Pasha_. Didn’t your mama teach you to share? I’ll make sure to take care of her. I’ll treat her  _real nice_.” Azimio leaned forward, resting his arm on Chekov’s shoulder, and though Jim had told him that Chekov hadn’t thrown the first punch, Leonard still half expected him to deck Azimio when the larger man whispered something in his ear that the camera couldn’t catch. His skin drained from red to white and his frame tensed as Azimio leaned back slightly, elbow still resting on Chekov’s shoulder, hand dangling behind his back. Leonard raised an eyebrow at Jim, but the only answer he got was that neither of them had been willing to repeat whatever had been said. “Think she’d like that?”  
  
“I think she’d like a no-class, uneducated, unwashed miscreant like you who doesn’t understand the meaning of even the simplest instruction to  _step away_  to leave us alone before I have to knock you on your ass,  _crewman_.” Chekov’s accented tenor was as cold as ice and Leonard thought he saw Azimio shiver as he removed his arm from Chekov’s shoulder and took a step back. Brand and Terence followed suit and Leonard didn’t miss the uncertain glance they gave their leader. They may be idiots and they may be off-duty, but they were still Chekov’s subordinates and they knew it. Leonard had only a second to wonder if they had to be drunk to do something so stupid when Azimio spit out his comeback.  
  
“You may be a lieutenant, but you’re still nothing more than a fucking  _little boy_.” Fuck. That explained a lot. The guilt that had been growing in Leonard’s gut trembled and expanded. Jesus, Jocelyn was right - he really was a jackass. “I beat your ass before and I can do it again.”  
  
“That was five years ago.” Azimio beat him up with he was only  _fourteen?_  Surely that was on record somewhere! Why the hell had the two been posted to the same assignment? His shocked look at Jim only got him a shrug as he turned back to the screen.  
  
Chekov stepped forward again, managing to loom in the presence of three men who were all over six-foot-three. Leonard actually shivered as a smile worked its way onto the young man’s face. It was wicked and sharp, looking like a predator baring his teeth. It was also far more attractive than anything that unnerving should be.  
  
Chekov’s next words were practically a snarl. “Now? I’d like to see you  _try_.”  
  
Azimio looked hesitant and pulled away - the smartest thing he’d probably ever done in his life - until Chekov added in a louder voice, “You’re nothing more than a schoolyard bully - never to amount to anything and afraid of getting beaten by the  _little boy_  who will  _always_  be better than you.” Leonard had never heard Chekov taunt anyone before and he honestly never wanted to hear it again. It just wasn’t right coming from someone normally so sincere and kind. “Admit it, Azimio. I may be smaller than you, but you’re just jealous that you will  _never_  measure up to the man that I’ve already become and that you can’t even  _hope_  to be.”  
  
Azimio turned bright red and swung. The fight began in earnest.  
  
It was beautiful.  _He_  was beautiful. Chekov moved with a grace and fluidity that Leonard had never seen in a fight before - and thanks to Jim, Leonard had seen a lot of fights. From the second the young man twisted to the side, gripping the fist that flew past him, using its momentum to pull his attacker off balance and send him flying into a nearby stand selling religious icons, it was like watching a ballet - a very violent ballet. As Terence and Brand rushed him, every one of Chekov’s strikes was sharp and exact, every bend and dodge was smooth and elegant. Not one of the hits that he couldn’t evade fazed him and he used every possible movement to his advantage. Even the punch to the eye he used, the force propelling him around and allowing him to land a kick to Brand’s chest that finally knocked him to the ground.  
  
Leonard’s heart climbed into his throat as he saw Azimio stand back up and rush Chekov from behind as he landed an elbow into Terence’s neck and one to his gut, finally knocking him out of the fight as well as a kick to the knee sent him to the ground to writhe in pain with his friend.  
  
He felt like he was going to be sick as he watched Azimio slam into the smaller figure, knocking them both into the fence surrounding an “open-air” eating area.  
  
His fingernails cut small crescents into his palms as Chekov slumped to the ground clutching his side before climbing to his feet and facing off against the larger man, looking like nothing was wrong except breathing more heavily -  _bruised ribs, possible fractures_  - and hunched slightly -  _bruised cartilage, definite inflammation and muscle spasms, Jesus, how was he still standing?_  
  
But not only was he standing, he was going on the offense, grabbing Azimio and twisting - which had to be excruciatingly painful on his ribs - and landing an elbow to his back before forcing him face down on the deck, arm around his throat and knee digging into his spine.  
  
Jim had been right - it was amazing. It was merciless, and frightening, and unbelievably and inexplicably sexy.  
  
As he watched the fight, he was reminded of the lean musculature he’d seen moving under pale skin, bending and twisting to music rather than responding to attacks. And now Leonard was seeing just what the muscle that Chekov hid underneath his command gold could actually do. He couldn’t see the sweat beading on his skin, but he knew that it was there and knew how it would taste. Even watching such violence, his hands itched to feel that smooth skin and strong muscle shift under his palms and fingers again.  
  
It was wildly inappropriate, but Leonard just couldn’t bring himself to care. There was just something about seeing that side of Chekov - a side that he never let out, a side that he seemed to enjoy embracing, the dark side that lit up his eyes much like they’d been in the bar - it was intoxicating. And watching him protect someone and finally deal out the justice that those men had truly deserved - it warmed something in Leonard’s chest even as heat rose to his face.  
  
His breathing rate had increased as well, but as Jim finished up his commentary, Leonard could tell that he hadn’t noticed. And Leonard made certain to have it mostly under control when Jim turned to him again, proud smile on his face as the screen returned to the Starfleet emblem.  
  
“See? Fucking awesome.”  _Awesome is such an understatement,_  Leonard’s brain supplied as Jim leaned his elbows on the desk in front of him, finally back to business, seeming to remember that Leonard had come there on his own to tell him something. “Anyway, I’m sure that’s not why you’re here. What’s up?” Apparently, news of the recent happenings in Sickbay had not reached Yeoman Rand - if they had, Jim would already know about it.  
  
“Well, Chekov left before I could finish his exam, and when I comm’d him to get his ass back to Sickbay, he responded with a paragraph of Russian that I’m pretty sure I don’t want the computer to translate and the words, ‘Make me.  _Sir._ ’ So here I am.” He handed his PADD over to Jim, who skimmed through the Russian and let out a low whistle.  
  
“Yeah, you don’t wanna know. What the hell did you say to him?”  
  
“Wait, you know Russian?”  
  
“Enough to start a riot or get someone into my bed, yeah. I’m a genius, remember?” What a smartass. “Seriously, though, what did you say to him to piss him off this much?”  
  
Leonard’s voice was quiet, almost sounding guilty when he replied. “... I implied he was a kid. Again.” Jim raised his eyebrows like that explained a few things, but not everything. “And I may have been rude-” Jim coughed. “ _Fine_. I kicked one of his friends out of Sickbay and may have made her cry. Happy?”  
  
Not to mention he may have pushed her straight into the waiting and comforting arms of the man he was currently in love with. Oh yes, Jim was the  _only_  genius in this room at the moment.  
  
“No. I’m not the only one who can occasionally be a pain in the ass to his superiors.” That was fair. “Who?”  
  
“Sadira David.”  
  
“Oh. Fuck.” Jim glanced down at the PADD in his hand one more time, wincing as he reread it in a new light. “Well, that explains some things.”  
  
Leonard just grunted an affirmative, clasping his hands behind his back and looking down at his shoes. He’d really shoved his foot in his mouth this time. To be fair, he hadn’t really known he was doing it at the time, but still. He’d known age was a touchy subject for Chekov, especially lately for some reason from the sounds of the scuttlebutt in Sickbay. But he let his temper get away from him - again - and fucked things up with someone he cared about - again.  
  
This was why relationships were a bad idea. Leonard wasn’t even  _in_  a relationship this time and he’d still managed to screw himself over. It was just one more thing on the list of Reasons Why Leonard Should Give Up On His Sad Little Dreams.  
  
“So... I’m right in assuming that Chekov walked out of his exam  _after_  your little comment?”  
  
Len felt like a child in the principal’s office and he almost scuffed his foot against the ground as he answered, “Well... And after a bit of yelling.”  
  
Jim let out a sigh, turning tired eyes up to look at his friend. “I’m going to hear about this later, aren’t I?”  
  
“Oh, yeah.” At Leonard’s response, Jim sighed again, glancing back at the text in front of him before tossing the PADD back to Len. He plastered a smirk back on his face and leaned back in his chair, oozing confidence that didn’t really help the older man feel any better at the moment.  
  
“I wouldn’t worry too much about it, Bones.”  
  
Lord, if only it were that simple.  
  
“You weren’t there, Jim. You didn’t hear him. I’ve never seen him like that.” And he honestly didn’t think that  _anyone_ in Sickbay - actually probably anyone other than Sulu, Nyota, or a few people back in Russia - had  _ever_  seen Chekov like that. Chekov usually let the problems that couldn’t be fixed with his brilliance just roll off of him like water on a duck. He just didn’t let himself get all worked up over things that he couldn’t change or that just weren’t his fault. Leonard certainly knew him well enough to know that. But this... This had been building for a while and the explosion had been both beautiful and terrifying.  
  
"He was already wound up from the fight. He probably just needed to let off some more steam and you just happened to give him a reason." Jim just waved off his concerns, turning his attention back to the work covering his desk. "He’ll cool down and things will go back to normal."  
  
Leonard had never hoped more in his life that Jim was right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, you can all thank likethdirection for this chapter. She truly inspires me and helps me get over my ridiculous blocks. She also gave me an amazing idea for the start of chapter 9... I can’t wait to write that, so I’ll try to get chapter eight out soon!


	8. In Which Leonard Finds Understanding In Unexpected Places

Jim had probably never been more wrong in his life than with his prediction about Chekov’s future behavior - and with Jim’s history of bad decisions, that was truly saying something.  
  
Chekov didn’t just “cool down;” he completely froze over. He was cool, curt and formal to everyone. He thawed a little around his friends, but around Leonard, he became as cold as winter in Siberia, and just as deadly. He flat out refused a direct order from Jim to return to Sickbay to finish his exam, only agreeing after stipulating that the exam be completed by Dr. M’Benga and that McCoy not be on shift at the time of the appointment. He avoided looking at Leonard when forced to be in his presence, and when forced to speak to him, his words were terse and impersonal, a far cry from his normal openness and cheerful charm. It was something McCoy would expect more from an annoyed Spock than from such a normally cheerful person.  
  
It was becoming more and more clear that Sulu had been hiding truth with humor when he’d jokingly warned them all about Chekov’s nasty temper.  
  
Unfortunately, that wasn’t the only thing that changed. Leonard started to notice subtle shifts in behavior and attitudes over the next week amongst the group that would come to be known, in Leonard’s head at least, as “Team Pasha.”  
  
Things like Ensign Robisson giving him disappointed looks across the Sickbay for no discernible reason (until he remembered his friendship with Chekov) and Crewman Skaggs from Stellar Cartography not holding the turbolift for him when he’d been rushing down to Medical, obviously running for the lift and shouting for her.  
  
Some were not so subtle, and those came from the people closest to Chekov. Like Sulu “accidentally” bumping him with his shoulder in the hallway. It was actually hard enough to make Leonard stumble into the wall and when he turned his shocked expression back at the young man, all he got was a disdainful look and a “Sorry, I’ll try to be more careful. Wouldn’t want you to break a hip or anything.”  
  
Leonard found that he was the new persona non grata with most of the people who knew Chekov, and since Jim was nowhere to be found lately, closeted away in his office doing only God-and-the-admiralty-knew-what, Leonard also found himself sitting alone in the mess hall for any of the meals he braved to eat in public.  
  
So color Leonard surprised one day when a tray holding a bowl of soup and a salad of unknown origins was placed across from him at his previously private table. Glancing up from his own meal, Leonard determined that the soup must be plomeek since sitting across from him was their ship’s first officer, Spock.  
  
They sat in awkward silence for a moment, Leonard practically gawking at the half-Vulcan poking at what Leonard now knew was vranto salad. He didn’t look up at Leonard when he broke the silence.  
  
“Doctor McCoy.” Leonard didn’t know that tone. Was he about to get chewed out about his emotional issues  _by a frickin’ Vulcan_?! He didn’t think he could handle the irony of that and was about to say something when Spock continued, “How are the  _Callevaria pestis_  vaccine trials progressing?”  
  
Well, this was just confusing.  
  
For a second, Leonard wondered if there’d been a transporter accident and Spock’s personality had been altered - hell, maybe all of reality had been altered.  
  
Maybe he was just stuck in a coma-dream.  
  
It wasn’t odd for Spock to ask him about an experiment - in his office, while he was on shift. Not in the mess room when Spock should be sitting quietly next to Uhura, listening to Uhura and Sulu try to coax Chekov into cheerfulness. Speaking of, Leonard hazarded a glance over at Forbidden Territory, where Sulu was faking a good mood and Nyota was staring intently at her food, foot tapping nervously under the table.  
  
Something was definitely going on.  
  
“Spock, not that I don’t appreciate the interest, but... what the hell are you doing here?”  
  
Finally, Spock made eye contact, looking as blank as usual. “Nyota instructed me to speak with you.” Or for the love of... Well, that explained why she was so twitchy - she had to know this wouldn’t end well.  
  
“I highly doubt that this was what she meant.” He risked another peek at the woman in question. She was glancing subtly at them, an expectant look on her face.  
  
“She was non-specific regarding the topic.” That sneaky, soon-to-be-single rogue.  
  
“...She’s gonna be pissed when she realizes you found a loophole.” Man was out of his Vulcan mind.  
  
“Perhaps.” Most definitely, in fact. “However, I will not be the one to inform her of such.” Or maybe he was just an evil genius with a heart of gold.  
  
“Damn, Spock.” Of all the people that may have been who he could’ve expected to be on his side (as much as he had a “side” since he was well aware that he’d been an ass to Chekov, even if Chekov may or may not have overreacted), Spock honestly wasn’t on the list. “You know, you just might be all right after all.”  
  
For the next few days, Leonard and Spock were regular meal-buddies, sometimes debating, occasionally flat-out arguing, and usually drawing confused and concerned glances from crewmen who had seen or heard of their epic fights. If Uhura was annoyed, Leonard never heard about it, and it certainly couldn’t be seen through the interactions of the ship’s favorite couple outside of the mess hall. And soon they were joined by Scotty, rarely seen out of Engineering for meals but now plopping down with soup and sandwiches, tucking in and devouring one before starting conversation.  
  
As soon as he opened his mouth, Leonard wished he’d just stuck with eating.  
  
“Well now. Who pissed off whom?”  
  
“Doctor McCoy has managed to earn Lieutenant Chekov’s ire.” The tone was deadpan, but Leonard knew the judgment that was lurking underneath that cool, Vulcan exterior.  
  
“Oh, I see. I don’t even want to know, do I?”  
  
Leonard responded before Spock could say something unhelpful. “Probably not.” And there went the Eyebrow of Derision.  
  
Scotty shrugged before turning back to Spock. “So, what are you doin’ over here, chattin’ up the enemy?”  
  
Slight pause. “I find the doctor’s silence unnerving in the stead of his usual continuous tirade of insults and complaints.”  
  
“Ah. Tired of hearing about it from your lady friend, eh?” Scotty nodded wisely, looking some kind of grease-covered guru. “Well, that’s understandable, she and Pavel bein’ besties. You probably have to listen to every wee detail, what with the pair of you coming as a matched set and all.”   
  
Spock looked at Leonard and raised an eyebrow that he couldn’t decipher. “Indeed.”  
  
He couldn’t know  _all_  of it... right? There’s no way that Uhura would-- Fuck. Yes, she would, if Chekov said it was okay. Suddenly, Leonard found his replicated custard to be very interesting and of the utmost importance.  
  
An awkward silence stretched on, until Scotty cleared his throat.  
  
“So, Len. I have a question for you. What exactly do you think extended exposure to tetrazine would do to a body?” ...The hell? “Or more specifically, Keenser’s body.”  
  
“Just what the hell are you planning to do, Scotty? He’s not a test subject!”  
  
“Well, we were tryin’ to plan the logistics of a repair, maybe make some upgrades while we were at it. See...” As Scotty rambled on, delivering one of his batshit insane and stupidly dangerous plans - which, Leonard had to admit, would most likely work - it was downright surreal. Here he was, being oddly comforted in their own weird ways by a half-Vulcan and a bizarre Scotsman. He never would’ve guessed that these two would be the ones on his side of whatever-the-hell-you’d-call-this.  
  
But Leonard had never been more grateful for the company.  
  
///\\\\\  
  
In the week since the blow-out in Sickbay, he’d not been surprised by the mass of support flocking to Chekov. Everyone loved Chekov. Hell,  _Leonard_  loved Chekov, and right now they apparently were supposed to be enemies. But Leonard had never imagined the number of people who were willing to stand beside  _him_  against the face of everything good that Russia, Starfleet and the Federation itself had to offer.  
  
By the time that the story of the “Battle of the ‘Bay” (as Scotty had unhelpfully dubbed it - and the name seemed to have staying power) had spread throughout the crew, more and more people had chosen sides and it was glaringly obvious that the “factions” were split along an age line.  
  
They all had to know that this wasn’t just about some squabble in sickbay, and Leonard was thankful that the more sordid details of his and Chekov’s recent interactions were still unknown. But hell, this whole faction thing wasn’t entirely about Leonard and Chekov, of that Leonard could be certain.  
  
The pressure had been building since this ragtag band of geniuses and veterans was thrown into this tin can and told to be the face of Starfleet. Leonard’s little situation with “Pasha” had just been the spark that had set it off. People whose names Leonard barely knew were now on “Team McCoy,” which was clearly just a nicer name for “Team Over 30.” Hell, half of them probably didn’t care what this was really about, they just knew that the age lines had been drawn, that snide remarks had been cast by both sides, and that  _USS Enterprise_  had found herself the battleground for an age war.  
  
Leonard knew that Jim had been putting up with this shit ever since he’d gained captaincy of Starfleet’s flagship at such a young age, and with such a youthful crew. Whether or not they were heroes, a lot of people had been skeptical of how well a crew of “young’uns,” as one admiral had put it, could really represent the Federation, especially with unfamiliar species in deep space. Several of the brass had been very vocal about their misgivings, and some of the older officers and crew that they’d strong-armed onto the crew list had shared their worries (or “arrogance” as Jim had called it) and been less than excellent in keeping their opinions to themselves. Hell, Leonard had been there when one of them had referred to Uhura as a “sweet girl” before suggesting someone else for her post. It had been a beautiful thing to listen to Admiral Pike and Commander Strauss politely rip that unfortunate “gentleman” a new one and thus ensure her place through a very effective shaming.  
  
The first few weeks of the mission, Leonard knew firsthand that Jim would’ve torn his hair out in frustration at some of the remarks and skillfully worded “suggestions” that he’d had to put up with if it weren’t for Spock. As heads of their respective departments, Leonard hadn’t overlooked the fact that he and Scotty had been largely left to their own devices, even if Leonard was new to space itself ( _medicine was medicine, dammit_ , had been a sentiment Leonard had loudly expressed several times over his years at the academy). Leonard honestly couldn’t relate to what Jim and some of the other, equally brilliant and equally young members of the crew (read: Chekov) had gone through, but looking back and relating it to the current situation, Leonard could now understand exactly why Jim had seemed so ready to go to bat for Chekov when Leonard had called him a kid. Jim and Chekov had both clearly had enough of the age discrimination they’d been facing.  
  
Yeah, having all that time to himself lately and being surrounded by so much hostility had really opened Leonard’s eyes to some things. Namely, that he’d been an ass.  
  
But finally seeing where some of this was coming from didn’t mean that Leonard knew what to do about it. Whatever metaphors anyone wanted to use about a crew being like a body were all well and good, but Leonard didn’t know how to treat something like this, even if he’d finally determined what was making the “corpus” ill.  
  
And like any other untreated disease, Leonard knew that this was going to get worse.  
  
Currently, things were pretty well-contained to areas that had already had problems, but in a tin can where everyone was packed in and couldn’t avoid each other, it was certain to spread. It was going to cause problems where there had previously been none, and that needed to be avoided.  
  
Communications and Science were splitting along unsurprising lines, and Stellar Cartography had already broken off from the Science collective and formed their own pro-Chekov camp. Engineering itself was divided in its current loyalties. Chekov had been spending less and less of his free time in Engineering, helping out and adding his brilliance to that of the other bright minds in the department. Their Chief Engineer, who knew more about the situation after a few stiff drinks in the safety of Leonard’s quarters, was firmly on Leonard’s side. Keenser was “abstaining,” as Scotty had delicately put it, and the members of Engineering were currently trying (and occasionally failing) to ignore the cooled relationship between their leading genius and their beloved young(er) prodigy.  
  
In short, the entirety of the Enterprise seemed to have somehow turned into “McCoy and the Old Fogies” versus “Chekov and the Young Upstarts,” and Leonard couldn’t for the life of him figure out how to get out of it.  
  
///\\\\\  
  
Leonard still hadn’t run into Uhura by the end of the second week and he was glad - and should maybe thank Spock - for that. He was pretty sure she could be vicious when one of her family was threatened, like a lioness protecting her cubs, and Leonard did not want to be the focus of her wrath. Not that he wanted to be the focus of a very determined Christine glaring at him from the consult chair in his office, but he regularly didn’t get what he wanted, so really he should’ve expected this.  
  
Like Jim, Christine had stayed out of the fray so far. Part of that might have had something to do with Leonard passively avoiding her whenever possible. He’d known that a conversation (read: interrogation) of some kind was coming and he really didn’t want to deal with it because he’d have to be honest and honesty had  _not_  been his friend lately. Honesty just made him realize how much of a discriminatory shithead he really was and didn’t actually help him fix a goddamn thing.  
  
True to her usual form, Christine seemed to decide that being painfully blunt was the way to go with her dear, idiot friend. “What did you do to Pavel?” Leonard scoffed and dropped into the seat next to her.  
  
“You mean Uhura hasn’t already informed you of what an evil old man I am?” She’d be well within her rights to do so - he couldn’t even argue with her assessment if she had. But Christine was a fair person by nature and so she probably just wanted to hear his side of the story before deciding whether to beat some sense into him or just give up on him entirely.  
  
So Leonard was surprised when her glare softened to simply eyeing him like a child suspected of fighting on the playground. “Nyota hasn’t been saying much of anything to me and from the sounds of it, that’s at least partly your fault.” And there was her sense of fair play again. Leonard would be willing to admit that it was completely his fault that the ship’s crew was fracturing. “So, Leonard, what did you do to Pavel?”  
  
She didn’t sound angry and wasn’t nearly as accusatory as Leonard would’ve expected. Instead she just sounded tired and frustrated; Christine sounded the exact way that Leonard felt. And so Leonard decided to not argue, simply starting right in on what had happened the night Chekov and David had been attacked on the station. She flinched when Leonard repeated what he’d said to Sadira and actually cringed when he told her what he’d said to Chekov and how Chekov had responded. He went into more detail than he normally would have, since Christine hadn’t been on duty that day and since it was _Christine_. She knew more about him than anyone other than Jim, and so talking to her about yet another time that he’d royally fucked up wasn’t that difficult.  
  
But because she knew so much about him and because she knew so much about Pavel, she knew that it couldn’t be so simple. “Leonard, Pavel normally laughs off comments about his age - especially yours and Scotty’s - because he knows you respect him.” She was watching him sit there with his elbows on his knees, staring at his hands folded together. She could probably see right through him, could see how guilty he felt. “...What happened to change that?”  
  
Crap. He knew this ‘honesty’ thing was going to bite him in the ass. “You know those panels you ran for me?”  
  
Thank God, Christine was quicker about some things than Jim. Her jaw dropped.  
  
“You’re shitting me.” She sank back into her chair, burying her face in her hands and mumbling something that sounded suspiciously like, “Oh my god, how could you be so stupid?”  
  
He was still just looking at her when her attention snapped back to him. “You said something, didn’t you.” It wasn’t a question; it was a statement, because she didn’t need to ask to know. “Oh God, what did you say?” She groaned. “I’ve never understood how you can be such a wonderful doctor and friend when you suck so much at simple communication. What did you say to him?”  
  
When Leonard didn’t answer right away, Christine held up her hand to keep him from even opening his mouth. “No, let me guess. You shoved your foot in your mouth the morning after, didn’t you? Or did you just shut down when he wanted to talk to you and then lashed out with his age?” She was far too young to sound that jaded, but she was also far too close to the truth of what had happened, even if she was off about the timing.  
  
“It was just a one-night stand, Chris. A one-time thing. I didn’t even know it was him for weeks after.” He’d meant to calm her with that, but instead she just fell into a tense silence that just floated in the air between them, making Leonard’s skin feel a size too small.  
  
Her voice sounded almost disbelieving when she finally spoke. “That’s all he wanted? A one-off?”  
  
“Of course it was!” Was that supposed to be some kind of surprise? They’d fucked in the back hallway of a bar! What did she expect?  
  
“You sure? How do you know?” Her voice was off. There was a whole list of reasons that he knew it couldn’t be anything more, a list he kept repeating to himself when he thought about Chekov, a list he repeated to Christine now: age, circumstance, and - most importantly - Chekov knew who he was and gave no indication of his own identity.  
  
Leonard had re-lived and analyzed that night, their relationship before it, and their interactions after it over and over in his head - oh, he knew all right. And even if Christine was trying to make him feel better or whatever the hell she was attempting to accomplish with all of these if’s, the fact that Chekov didn’t want him wasn’t going to change.  
  
He must have taken too long to respond, eyes cast downward and mouth set in a line, because Christine continued before he could answer. “If it was just a one-night-stand - you’re okay with that?”  
  
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Damn it, that even sounded defensive to him. Christine just narrowed her eyes up at him in an unfortunately very familiar expression.  
  
“Don’t answer a question with a question, Leonard. Are you okay with that?”  
  
“I thought this was about Chekov.” Well, piss. He sounded like a high schooler who didn’t want to admit to a crush.  
  
“Chekov’s Nyota’s problem. Answer the question, Leonard.” In the silence that followed, Leonard wondered if Christine was the reincarnation of Grandmother Katherine. She’d always look at him like that when he was avoiding something. She’d narrow her eyes, her eyebrow would rise, and Leonard would cave.  
  
“Leonard.” Or maybe Granny Harris. Christine was the only other person he’d ever met who could say his name quite like that - with a specific mix of disappointment, concern, fondness, and exasperation. Oh, and a healthy dose of I’m-not-takin’-any-more-of-your-crap-so-  
spit-it-out-already.  
  
“I don’t know.” Yeah, that was bullshit. He knew how he felt and he was most definitely not okay with it, for many reasons.  
  
Here was where his friendship with Christine differed from what he had with Jim. While he knew  
that they both cared a great deal for him, they approached problems very differently. Jim would let him vent, would offer advice or help, but when it came to emotional or interpersonal issues, Jim acknowledged that he had enough of his own baggage and over the years had learned to back off and be silent support. Well, be  _near_ -silent anyway.  
  
But while Christine respected Leonard both as a doctor and as a person, she knew he could be what she fondly referred to as “emotionally constipated” when it came to these things and loved him enough to want to fix it. And because she knew and loved him, Leonard knew what she was reading on his face. When she took one of his hands in hers and looked into his eyes with a soft “Oh, Leonard,” he knew that she understood.  
  
No, he wasn’t okay with a one-night-stand - because he wanted more. He’d come to terms with that over the past few weeks. There were so many things that Leonard wanted to know and do. He wanted to know if he could make Chekov laugh so hard he cried. He wanted to know where all of Chekov’s freckles were. He wanted a chance to cook him a real Southern dinner. He wanted to brush his teeth and listen to Chekov next to him, chattering on around his toothbrush about something that Leonard didn’t understand but wanted to hear anyway, just because it was in a beautiful Russian accent and because it made Chekov happy.  
  
He wanted to meet the man and woman who had helped their precocious ten-year-old plot out a star system, to taste the delicious blini that made Chekov wax poetic.  
  
He wanted to introduce Chekov to Joanna.   
  
But he’d also come to terms with the fact that it would never happen. Chekov could do so much better; and to take a risk and approach him would end in rejection, because Chekov wouldn’t want him like that. Especially not after he’d repeatedly put his foot in his mouth so spectacularly. Oh yeah, Leonard was divorced and he could at least tell when he was in the doghouse.  
  
“Leonard... What if - “ Christine cut herself off, the blue eyes that looked so similar to Jim’s darting away from his face to glance at everything and nothing. After a moment, her gaze returned to his, a soft smile returning to her pretty face. “You know what? Never mind. It’s not my --” She cut herself off with a slight shake of the head, small smile still on her lips. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze.  
  
“What, Chris?” She stood, the strength of her smile growing.  
  
“It’s nothing. Let’s go get some dinner, yeah?” With his hand still in hers, she started to tug him toward the door, and while normally Leonard wouldn’t just let it sit like that, wouldn’t let her brush off the odd, almost-resigned tone her voice had taken, well... Honestly, he just didn’t want to talk about it anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG. I’m so sorry! I keep telling myself that I’m never going to take so long to update again and then I just go ahead and prove that I’m made of fail. Again, I’ll do my best to update in a timely manner, but at this point? I think you all know not to hold your breath. At least, even though it takes a while, I do update. That’s good, right? *is suitably shamed* Really, though, your comments helped push me along and I really appreciate all of them even if I’ve started to suck at replying to them. *is suitably shamed about that, too*


	9. In Which Leonard Resigns Himself to Certain Limitations

Leonard woke up.   
  
The room was still dark, the lights set so very low for sleeping, and the clock wasn’t where it was supposed to be on his nightstand. No follow-up blips from his communicator, no Jim shouting through the door, nothing. He rolled over to look at the clock, thinking he must just be disoriented, the clock right where it was supposed to be on the  _other_  nightstand and his mind what was misplaced. But instead of a clock, Leonard came face to face with Chekov.   
  
Chekov lying on his side, part of his face hidden by the pillow, features more visible than they should be, open eyes glinting in light that shouldn’t be there. Lying beside Leonard like that was just what he did, where he belonged, and looking at Leonard like he sometimes looked at schematics or charts - reviewing, not needing to look but wanting to, checking for differences in something he’d already memorized. Leonard opened his mouth to speak, to ask Chekov what he was doing there, what he wanted, what was wrong -  _are we okay again? am I forgiven?_  - but nothing came out. His lips wouldn’t form the words, the air moving past his vocal cords made no vibrations.   
  
A pale hand reached out, light skin making it more visible in the dim light than the dark sheets shifting out of the way along his bare arm. Cool fingers brushed hair off of Leonard’s forehead, trailing along his brow, tracing his eyebrow and following the curve of the orbital process of his zygomatic bone to brush his fingers along Leonard’s cheek, through the stubble to his jaw. The world shifted and Chekov was leaning over him, propped up on an elbow, fingers now trailing down his neck, along his collarbone, along the curve of his pectoral, dragging the sheet with it, allowing the fabric to gather at his hips in a way similar to how it had pooled at the dip of Chekov’s waist.   
  
Lips that could form so many different words so quickly in so many different languages parted, but then there was bare skin along Leonard’s side and heat pressed against his hip and Leonard pushed at the disappointment that he hadn’t heard Chekov speak, that he hadn’t been told what all of this meant. He wanted to know, wanted to hear his voice, but there was steady touch and warm weight.  
  
There was silence: no rustling sheets, no heavy breathing, no beautiful noises spilling from pale throats, and it was all wrong. Pavel Chekov was not a creature made for silence and darkness and muted color. He was made for laughter and light and brilliance of all kinds, made for action but this was too much, too fast, a tension to the movements that shouldn’t be there, not like this, reality seeping in to punish Leonard for his rashness in the best and worst of ways. Leonard couldn’t take his eyes off of Chekov’s - Chekov when he should be Pavel - face, his lips close enough to reach up and finally taste but Leonard couldn’t move his head, Chekov’s eyes staring down at him and full of so much: expectation, disappointment,  _regret_.   
  
Chekov tensed above him, heat was building at a low point in Leonard’s gut, and it hit him like a tidal wave:  _this wasn’t what he wanted._  
  
Leonard woke up.   
  
He just sat there for a moment, ignoring the ache in his groin to focus on the more worrying ache in his chest and the tightness in his throat. Not for the first time, Leonard started his morning with a cool shower, but it wasn’t the water making him feel numb.   
  
Pavel Chekov should never look like that. Yes, it had all been in his head, but it was so  _real_  and--   
  
Leonard skipped breakfast and went to his shift early, hoping that he wouldn’t have to keep thinking about anything other than the well-being of the crew, hoping for once that there was a massive amount of busy work waiting on his desk. If only.   
  
Instead he walked in on two techs bickering. Surprise, surprise, one was older and arguing based on “experience” and the younger had just cracked in a sarcastic tone that “ships actually fly now. Times have changed.”  
  
Leonard would’ve honestly let it go - his morning had been shitty enough, thanks - but then the older tech, Carr, had looked surprised to see Leonard but that expression changed to smugness, like Leonard would intervene on his behalf or something, which was bullshit since he didn’t know what the hell they’d even been talking about. He pulled up short in front of them and narrowed his eyes menacingly.  
  
“I know for a fact that you both have work to be doing. I shouldn’t have to tell you to do your jobs and I sure as hell shouldn’t have to tell you to find an answer to your problem and  _move on_.” They both looked a little shocked, and Leonard rolled his eyes. Like he didn’t regularly lecture someone around here. “Don’t just stand around taking up space. Get back to work!”  
  
He stalked off to his office and the quiet that surely wouldn’t be blissful, by any means, but that was the last thing that Leonard said that morning. Actually, all day the only words out of his mouth were directly related to the task at hand, concise but effective, and it looked like it was making everyone uneasy. Leonard was frighteningly efficient, anything to keep his mind from wandering, to keep from being forced to notice the splintering of the corps around him.   
  
His grandmother had warned him about coveting what he couldn’t have or keep; Jocelyn had accused him of letting his emotions cloud his judgment and fuel their fights. And now look at where it had gotten him. Looking around him at the rest of the crew, it was striking how much it all resembled his divorce: people picking sides, the two main parties not even talking to each other, and those who cared about them both caught in the middle. Leonard had already lost one custody battle, and hell if he’d go through another one.   
  
Spock had once admitted that McCoy was an excellent doctor, only to follow with his usual chastisement that his emotions kept him from being more than just an acceptable Starfleet officer. It was probably Spock’s grip on his own emotions that kept him from going slack-jawed the way Scotty did, that kept him from glancing over at Chekov’s table when Leonard sat down at their regularly scheduled lunch time and asked Spock if he’d teach him meditation. It was also probably that same control of emotion that kept him from doing more than raising an eyebrow when Leonard wasn’t that tactful and instead called it “that Vulcan voodoo to bury your emotions.” Some habits really do die hard, it would seem.   
  
But he had to do something. In the few days since the dream, he’d been drifting, just going through the motions of each day: Wake up; go to work which was repetitive with no recent shore leave or planetside missions; eat lunch and listen to Scotty chatter on around a sandwich and watch Spock - on the days he actually came to the mess to eat - Vulcan-grimace at some of the more dangerous stories and ideas; go back to finish alpha shift; stay after to work on the paperwork that he didn’t have time to do previously; go to dinner, eat silently with Christine and listen to her speculate about what Spock and Jim were up to that was keeping them so busy. Then he’d shut himself away in his quarters and exercise or read or do even more paperwork.   
  
The only breaks from routine had been last night. Instead of speculation, Christine had lectured him about upsetting the staff with his newly acquired ninja skills and that acting like a ghost couldn’t be a good sign and was frankly damaging to the collective blood pressure in sick bay. Leonard noticed that she didn’t mention that this was the second time medbay efficiency had spiked this year. Fear was a good motivator, it seemed.  
  
And then came his call from Joanna. It was so good to hear her sweet voice, even if most of it was complaining about another girl in her class. Jo hadn’t been invited to a birthday party when the rest of her class had and when her best friend found out - Nira was the best friend anyone could have, according to his daughter - she’d refused to go if Jo couldn’t. This rebellion had apparently started a war against the other girl’s birthday party tyranny. Leonard really didn’t remember having so much drama when he was her age, but maybe that was just looking at the past through rose-colored glasses. Leonard also wished that JIm could hear this, because he’d likely find it glorious.   
  
Jim’s advice would’ve likely been better, too, some further act to break the iron grip of the social relations dictatorship. Instead, Jo just got her daddy telling her to be the bigger person while he tried to speak sympathetically and smile through the lump forming in his throat from his raging hypocrisy. Even though his advice was probably what she’d heard from any other adult she’d told, Jojo was a born diplomat and smiled brightly at him and told him he was the best daddy ever. Then she’d asked him if he was working too hard and lectured him about the importance of fun and the dangers of burn-out and stress. Her Life Skills teacher at school would’ve been so proud. It was probably a sign of the times that she was learning about time and stress management so young. Ah, progress.  
  
But that next day had found him asking Spock for help, so maybe his own school should’ve implemented such courses way back when and maybe he wouldn’t have needed to suffer through an infuriating Vulcan attempting to teach him emotional control. Actually, maybe he wouldn’t have been in this mess at all, wouldn’t be having dreams that torment him with a beautiful young man that he’ll never have, wouldn’t get into arguments so easily, wouldn’t drink so much, wouldn’t screw masked men in the back corridors of alien bars.   
  
Maybe he wouldn’t smile more or would still be married, but at least he wouldn’t have to tell his staff to knock it off and get back to work when he overheard them complaining to each other or taking verbal shots at the opposing faction. And really, what had his life become that he actually used the term “opposing faction” in his head? Team Chekov had been bad enough, but both were unfortunately apt.  
  
///\\\\\  
  
The orders to meet Jim in an hour were delivered shortly after the first serious Engineering injury that sickbay had seen in the past week and as petty and unprofessional as it made him feel, Leonard wasn’t about to hand off the first thing that took enough brain power to keep him from dwelling. So, he was late when he arrived at Jim’s ready room and Yeoman Rand smiled kindly and told him to go on in. It must be pretty damn important if the captain was actually waiting instead of telling him to reschedule and Leonard didn’t expect him to be happy about it, what with how busy the man was lately and how little time he likely had to wait.   
  
Leonard also didn’t expect Lieutenant Chekov to already be standing in front of Jim’s desk with his back to the door, lines of muscle rigid even at parade rest. Seated behind his desk, back straight and hands folded on top of a PADD in front of him, Jim looked tired -  _rings under his eyes, slightly bloodshot, possibly dehydrated_  - but still severe, the lines of his face and body more set than the last time Len had seen him, like he’d been carved out of stone. It was unnaturally silent and from the clench of Chekov’s jaw and the slight color on his cheeks that Leonard noticed as he stepped up beside him, Leonard didn’t think he wanted to know what they’d been talking about. Maybe it was a good thing he’d been so late.   
  
Jim looked at Leonard, who almost flinched at the sharp edges to his words. “Good of you to join us, Lieutenant Commander.” Not Jim, then. Captain Kirk.   
  
“Sorry for the delay, sir.” Shit, he kind of felt bad for Chekov having to deal with this while they both waited for the errant physician. Unless Jim was just pissed at Leonard. That was also possible.   
  
“Let’s get this over with, then.” He leaned back in his chair and Leonard hoped Jim would pick up the PADD, present them with whatever he’d been working on that needed the attention of both his CMO and his chief navigator - and really, what the fuck could that even be? - but no, Leonard was never that lucky.  
  
“Would either of you care to explain to me why I come out of over a week of preparations for an extremely important mission to find half of my crew acting like a bunch of clique-y thirteen year olds?”  
  
Really, it wasn’t  _half_  the crew. Jim was exaggerating; it just seemed like half because the people involved were also the people in charge.  
  
He was waiting for an answer, clearly, but it seemed that Chekov didn’t really have anything to say for himself either. Leonard wasn’t sure if that made him feel better or worse. Either way, he still felt like he’d been called into the principal’s office for fighting in the schoolyard and it was unnerving as hell.  
  
Jim leaned forward in his chair and rested his elbows on his desk, expression just shy of a glare as he looked up them with his eyes narrowed and his jaw set in either annoyance or frustration or maybe both. “And imagine my surprise when I find out who the ringleaders are.”  
  
Well, ringleaders seemed a bit... Jim pulled up a screen on the PADD - oh God - that Leonard instinctively knew was a list of the insubordinate or just plain rude behavior that had been occurring since the Battle of the ‘Bay-- Goddammit, Scotty had him calling it that in his head, even.   
  
Leonard glanced at Chekov, staring straight ahead at parade rest. Yeah, okay, ringleaders might be more accurate than he was willing to think about. Thankfully, Jim didn’t verbally read off the list; he just turned the PADD and slid it across to be easily seen by both of his wayward officers.  
  
“Some of the behavior has been outright dangerous to the well-being of the crew by delaying our CMO from quickly reaching the sickbay or making him repeat orders or--” Okay, now Leonard had no idea who Jim had heard some of these things from, but he wasn’t about to let Chekov get blamed for someone else’s behavior.  
  
“Jim, Chekov hasn’t done anything to inter--”   
  
“Even if you’re not just saying that to cover his ass, some of his little followers have and I think we all know who they’re taking their cues from.” Touché. At least he was acting more like the man Leonard knew so well and loved and not some detached commander. “And the fact that you didn’t report these incidents is unbelievably irresponsible. And while we’re on the subject of irresponsibility, Bones, you didn’t think that maybe a sincere apology might’ve gone a long way in all this?”   
  
Well, that had gone from stern to scornful rather quickly. And an apology. Of course. That would’ve been the smart thing to do and one would think that having been married would’ve taught him that. Then again, Leonard was  _no longer_  married, so clearly he hadn’t learned all that much about conflict resolution. Though, being married had at least taught Leonard when to keep his mouth shut.  
  
Jim stared at them, both tight-lipped and silent, which had been a bit surprising to Leonard, now that he knew just how capable of righteous outrage Chekov really was. Jim leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. Leonard’s heart sank into his stomach - which was physically impossible for his species, but the sentiment was accurate - because he knew whatever Jim was about to say wasn’t going to be good.  
  
“You both know that I’m not one to interfere with who’s sleeping with whom on my crew,” Jim held up a hand to silence the protest that was clearly about to come from both of them, “But when it starts to affect the civility of the interactions on my ship, I can’t just look the other way.”  
  
Oh God. Were they going to get written up for this?  _Could_  they get written up for this? Would their past encounter count as fraternization? Or could their current behavior even count as inciting mutiny or something equally horrible since they’d effectively divided the crew loyalties?   
  
“Look, I get that everyone’s tense. We haven’t had a planet-side shore leave in a while,” Leonard didn’t bother to look over and see if Chekov had a visible reaction to that statement as he didn’t really want to know, “and there’s been some necessary secrecy that has people on edge, so I’m sure that’s why this has escalated to the extent that it has. The pressure had to find a release somewhere. But that kind of behavior is unacceptable and unfitting of Starfleet officers. Neither of you,” Jim looked meaningfully at Chekov as he paused before looking in a similar manner at Leonard, “are children, and I don’t even know how I would begin to write anyone up for the majority of this, but listen up because I am saying this _once_.  
  
“If this causes problems on this mission, I swear to whatever you find holy, I will bury your careers and professional reputations in a hole so deep that your  _grandchildren_  will be still digging the way out. Do I make myself clear?”  
  
Both Chekov and Leonard were smart enough to just answer with a clipped, “Yes, sir,” and Jim leaned back in his chair, if not looking satisfied or relaxed, then at least looking a bit less like he was going to reach over his desk and beat them with the PADD full of indiscretions.  
  
“Alright then,” Jim said after a moment, sitting back up and running a hand through his hair, “on that note, let’s talk about that mission.” He pulled the PADD back over to himself and pulled up a different file with one hand and reached into a drawer for a second that he handed over to Leonard. Chekov was handed the other and Jim leaned back again, hands folded across his abdomen, body language at odds with the intense expression on his face.  
  
“We’ve been given the task of bringing a planet into the Federation. Planet name is Xolodil’ and its inhabitants are the Xolodil’niki.” That guttural sound in the beginning was something that Leonard didn’t think he could ever reproduce, but out of the corner of his eye, he could that something had the corner of Chekov’s lips twitching upwards into a half-smirk. “Cold but still technically temperate climate.”   
  
Chekov was definitely fighting a smile now as he looked down at the PADD in his hand, but hell if Leonard knew why.  
  
“Most of the negotiation has already taken place but we still need to sign the treaties, shake hands, and smile for the cameras.” Leonard looked down at his PADD, still only vaguely understanding why the hell he was here with Chekov and not just waiting for an overall announcement. Sure, he and the other doctors would have to double-check immunization records, make sure that no one - specifically, Jim and his hyper immune system - wouldn’t die from eating some standard fare on the planet, but that usually entailed a meeting of the heads of departments and whatnot.   
  
“Now, Starfleet Command has been up my ass for the past two weeks not only because this is the first one we’ve done, but because the circumstances are a bit… delicate.” Leonard almost snorted. Delicacy and they were sending  _Enterprise_? No wonder they were twitchy. His attention faded in and out, ears already used to half-listening to Jim’s voice while reading through files. It was the standard fare on the PADD: reports on plant life that was less dry than Spock usually was so they must’ve picked this up elsewhere, information about the atmosphere which was apparently charged in some way -  _could cause nausea and headaches in humans,_  fantastic - that Leonard didn’t understand and didn’t care to, but the young genius next to him could have probably figured out at age ten. Jim was yammering on about some resource or whatever available on the planet and how they were a bit too close to edge of Federation territory for comfort or whatever, when Leonard came across a chunk of files that pulled him up short.   
  
“A plague? They’re sending us to a planet with a plague?”   
  
Jim rolled his eyes. “Yes, Bones, I was getting to that.” Chekov was frowning a bit and leaned over to look at what Leonard was seeing, while Jim continued his explanation. “As I was saying before being interrupted, they have a bit of a problem and their medical community can’t seem to find a way to fight it. That’s where you two come in, actually.”  
  
They both looked up at him with twin expressions of confusion. “Both of us, sir,” Chekov asked.  
  
Jim looked rather annoyed, crossing his arms, but Leonard didn’t get the feeling that it was directed at either of them this time. “Yeah, both of you. Like I said earlier, they’re pretty xenophobic and apparently some of them think this disease is a punishment from their gods, but the only beings not being affected are the small human community that that medical information came from. And because of that very xenophobia, Starfleet wants to keep this mission as small as possible, so it’s just going to be you two and your science tech of choice going up north to where it’s been the worst.”  
  
Leonard’s eyebrows drew together in annoyance and his words were more clipped than was probably appropriate. “Are you kidding me? Three people for--” He waved the PADD a bit. “Three people for all of this?!”  
  
Jim sighed. “You’re to fly down, do an assessment and take whatever samples you need, and then you’ll fly back up here for whatever supplies or synth you need to do, while Uhura, Sulu, a few others, and I finish things up in the capitol. It’s really stupid and I’ve already argued ‘til I was blue in the face, Bones, but they won’t even let me send down a security detail because it ‘might send the wrong message.’” Leonard couldn’t determine if Jim was doing an impression of one of the brass in particular or just an impression of general pomp and snootiness. “That’s why I’m sending Chekov with you. He can fly and his combat scores were good enough to keep you alive if anything goes wrong.” Chekov stiffened next to him while Leonard blurted out what they were both likely thinking.  
  
“What do you mean, ‘if anything goes wrong,’ Jim?” Jim threw his hands up in exasperation.  
  
“Oh, I don’t know, if this goes like every other away mission we’ve ever had? I told you, I don’t like it, but my hands are tied! We have to send humans so we don’t risk losing any of our own, they want me to send my CMO but won’t let me send any security, and we can’t even teleport your asses out of there if we need to!” Leonard latched on to that bit.  
  
“Wait, you said we’re flying down and we can’t teleport…”   
  
Jim looked like he was about to just give up and slam his forehead onto his desk. “Were you even listening? God, give you a medical text and you just cannot resist for even a minute, can you?” Out of the corner of his eye, Leonard caught Chekov’s lips quirking up into that half-smirk again. Well, at least he seemed to be in a better mood now that he knew they might die on an alien planet. Great. “The charge of the atmosphere interferes with things as basic as communications, so we’re not about to risk teleportation. That’s part of why you’re the best choice: you’ve got more experience with low-tech medical techniques than anyone else in Medical.” Jim held up his hand before Leonard could protest and Chekov’s smirk was almost like it had been before Everything Went Wrong and Leonard’s heart felt like it was being squeezed even as he listened to Jim mock him. “Yeah, yeah, I know, just because you can doesn’t mean you want to, but that’s what we have to work with.”  
  
Jim turned to Chekov, whose smile dropped immediately. “You’ve talked to Uhura already?”  
  
Chekov nodded. “Yes, sir. I’ll need to take a dictionary with me, but the grammar is similar enough. I think.” It was Leonard’s turn to throw his hands in the air.  
  
“You mean to tell me that I not only get to do this with less than ideal equipment and circumstances, but I don’t even get the universal translator? Chekov can’t be two places at once, Jim, and he  _thinks_  the grammar is close enough. Do you know how damn important language is in a medical examination? I can’t just poke until one of them slaps me so I know where it hurts!”  
  
Chekov responded before Jim had done more than open his mouth. “I’ve been helping Ny-- Lieutenant Uhura with things like compiling a concise dictionary from what they have in Linguistics, and it’s surprisingly close to Russian and a few other Slavic languages I know. It’ll be only one examination and patient interview at a time, but we should be able to manage. Linguistics can work on translating any medical documents they have to send up.” The smile was still gone as Leonard looked at him, but something eased at the confidence he could see on Chekov’s face. Hearing that it was similar to his native language made him feel a lot less like yelling at someone, and realizing that he’d never actually heard Chekov speak Russian made it fade completely into the usual weight of resignation that he’d been under lately.  
  
He sighed again and muttered, “I am getting too old for this shit.” The two younger men both huffed out a surprisingly similar laugh. A bit louder, he continued, “Alright, how long do we have to get this rolling?”  
  
A few more details - God, they were just not giving him enough time to prepare for this - and then Leonard and Chekov were being dismissed, told to both attend the department head meeting later that week. They passed Yeoman Rand as she slipped into Jim’s office behind them and had just entered the corridor, about to go their separate ways as they had for far too long now, when Chekov spoke.   
  
“Doctor McCoy--” Leonard paused, hesitating only for a second and wishing it’d been his given name before turning around to face the younger man. At least it hadn’t been his rank this time. “Thank you.”  
  
That brought Leonard up short.  _What the hell?_  He stared at Chekov. It wasn’t polite, but he really didn’t know how to respond to that. There he was, just standing there, curly-haired head held high and looking Leonard with an expression that Leonard just couldn’t put a name to. Chekov looked down at his feet for a second, pulling himself together and there it was again, a mask similar to the one he’d been wearing since rightfully yelling at Leonard. It was less harsh, duller around the edges and less cold, but any emotions that had been slipping through were gone. “For trying to defend me to the captain, I mean. I honestly didn’t know--” Chekov closed his eyes and shook his head slightly, continuing on in a stronger and more formal tone. “I apologize for any detrimental or hostile actions others have taken against you on my behalf. I will do my best to see that such actions do not happen again.” At least his tone was warmer than it had been lately, but Leonard wasn’t sure what was worse: how unsure of himself he’d originally sounded, or the formality of an apology that really wasn’t necessary.   
  
Chekov started to turn away, but then he paused and turned back, straightened his posture, and said, “Now, if you will excuse me, sir, I have another meeting to attend.” Then he saluted. It was unnecessary and they both knew it, but Leonard saluted back out of reflex and then Chekov turned on his heel and off he went.   
  
He should say something, he thought, as Chekov walked down the corridor.   
  
He should’ve said something, he thought, as Chekov rounded the corner and disappeared from sight. Should’ve stopped him to talk, should’ve ran after him even. Maybe this all was a step in the right direction, but Chekov wasn’t the one at fault, wasn’t the one who should be apologizing, if not grovelling. Maybe it was for the best, since McCoy couldn’t ever seem to keep from saying hurtful things when they were alone, couldn’t keep from shoving his foot in his mouth when the young man was around. It’s not like he’d often talked much back when they were still what he could’ve called friends, always more content to listen to Chekov chattering away, full of sound and smiles, just like he always should be.   
  
Leonard took a moment to breathe and turned around. Yes, this was definitely better than it had been recently but…  
  
 _This wasn’t what he wanted._  
  
But as Leonard walked back to the lift and made his way to his office, he resigned himself to the fact that this may be the best he could get. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so I'm painfully aware of how long it's been since I updated this, but I can't really apologize sincerely. I feel bad about it, but I was busy not-failing university, getting engaged, and planning a wedding. Real life is a bitch, especially when I have three majors, but at least I'll have three degrees and a spouse by the end of this semester! So I wish I could've updated sooner, and the next ones will probably come faster since I actually know what's going to happen now, but there's not much I could've done. Just know that I don't just abandon fic, especially not one that I've put so much time and effort into. It may take time, but it eventually gets posted.
> 
> Also, super thanks to likethdirection and theyaoisquirrel for hand-holding and cheerleading.


	10. In Which Shit Hits the Fan

At no point in Leonard’s life up until this moment had he ever honestly thought that someday, he would be running for his life through a largely coniferous forest on an alien planet, breath fogging in the cold air.

Yes, it would eventually occur to him that the likelihood of a similar scenario had skyrocketed the second he met James Tiberius Kirk, but this is generally not how the life of a Southern doctor is assumed to proceed. It's supposed to ramble on like the back roads of Georgia: possibly pitted with potholes in places, occasionally made up of only a series of ruts, but definitely not tripping over unearthly tree roots trying to trip him up and deliver him into the clutches of his would-be executioners.

Executioners that had already ended the lives of Lts. Raleigh and Subramanyam. Executioners of whom at least two had already been dispatched to whatever afterlife they believed in by the genius Russian trying to get Leonard to keep up, helping him dodge between trees with an honest-to-God gunpowder-reliant rifle in his hands and a handgun at his belt - trophies that Leonard didn't want to think too hard about.

Though, there would be a lot that Leonard didn’t want to think about much at all after this. Like how he’d handpicked Raleigh for this assignment, based on her background as a microbiologist. She had studied bacteriology and virology, among other things, and had experience working in an underdeveloped technological environment. She was the perfect candidate, near in age to himself and they got along okay, largely because she was friendly but quiet, serious about her research and in possession of a dry sense of humor that was funniest when it was going straight over Spock’s pointy ears.

No, he didn’t want to think about the fact that it was technically his fault that she was there at all, that her blood was splattered across his face, pooling on the shuttle floor from where she’d slumped through the door, laughing just seconds earlier at Leonard’s bitching how impossible situations weren’t actually supposed to be able to get worse.

Did that count as irony? He didn’t really know. It was possible his brain wasn’t getting enough oxygen to draw that far back into his memory of high school Literature and Language Theory; his body was too focused on staying in motion.

Chekov darted to the right, reaching out just in time to grab Leonard’s arm and jerk him into the new course. Leonard almost lost his footing when they turned and then again when Chekov cleared a fallen branch much more easily than Leonard was capable of, especially with a pack on his back and another in hand. They were missing so many supplies. Leonard and Raleigh had been reorganizing, leaving out the malfunctioning medical equipment and checking over the ones that didn’t require electronics to make sure they hadn’t been damaged in the crash. They’d added another blanket and had been repacking the food when Leonard had heard a noise like ice cracking with a pop and then felt something wet spray his face. Thank God for the instinct that had him ducking and diving for the space beside the door and out of the line of fire - and away from where Raleigh had slumped onto the shuttle floor.

Chekov had grabbed him and pulled him out of the shuttle, much like he was currently grabbing him and pulling him down behind a fallen tree. Leonard had barely had time to grab two of the packs and Chekov had helped him put one on his back even had he pushed him ahead and told him to run. Leonard had said one word, turning Subramanyam’s name into a question and was answered by a bullet hitting a tree next to his head, sending splinters of wood exploding out at them, and Chekov grabbing him and pulling and yelling at him again to run.

The tree they were hiding behind wouldn’t offer them much protection, but Leonard had desperately needed the break. He’d kept up to the physical requirements just like any officer had to, but this was different. There was no warm-up and his muscles were protesting. His lungs were tight from breathing in the cold air and it was entirely possible that the adrenaline rushing through his system was the only thing keeping him from going into shock.

He’d seen people die; he was a doctor and the Narada Incident alone… But while he was more than capable of dealing with death, of coping and compartmentalizing and dealing with the emotions that always accompanied it, this was different. It was more than just the helplessness of someone dying in front of him when there was nothing he could do. This was Caroline Raleigh who’d only been there because he’d asked for her and she’d been laughing with him when she’d been--

A hand grabbed his and he blinked. He hadn’t realized they were shaking until Chekov had reached over to steady them.

Looking at them now - he couldn’t face Chekov, couldn’t look up at him and risk seeing pity or, worse, cold eyes looking back at him - he could see the tiny pinprick droplets of red that had dried on his skin. The thermal material of both his shirt and jacket were thankfully black, but it was on his face. If he changed his expression, he was sure he’d be able to feel the dried blood pulling at his skin. But he didn’t have time to clean any of it off. A crack of a twig to their left and Chekov was tugging at his hands, swinging one of the packs over his own shoulder and and pulling Leonard to his feet to start running all over again.

By the time the sun rose over the horizon the next morning, it felt like they’d never stopped moving and would never be able to. They’d taken breaks, Chekov tugging him behind a tree right when Leonard thought he’d collapse. They’d share a few ounces of water, unsure when they’d be able to refill it and without any snow on the ground to melt, just cold dirt, fungi, and humus under the various shrubs they’d be dodging or stepping over. A protein bar and short rest and then they were back on their feet, going more slowly with just the light of the moons, trying to get as far from their pursuers as they could before feeling safe enough to rest for a longer period.

The first break that morning, Leonard handed Chekov a caffeine pill and took one for himself. He hated them, hated the side effects and could rant about the antiquated medication that could never replace a decent amount of sleep. But he didn’t need Chekov to tell him that they couldn’t sleep during the daylight, not unless they found decent cover. Chekov just nodded at him, nose and cheeks tinged pink and eyes as serious as Leonard had ever seen them. He looked tired, but he was also young enough to pull an all-nighter without too many poor side effects, adrenaline rush notwithstanding. Leonard was definitely going to be slowing them down today, though.

He was getting too old for this shit.

Chekov was proving that pacing and observance of those under his care - because, really, Leonard was man enough to admit that Chekov knew much more about keeping them alive in this instance than Leonard did - were just two more skills at which he excelled. Their trek became more of a hike than a run and Chekov quietly mentioned that he was pretty sure that there was a village to the west of where they’d crashed, but while they could navigate by the suns for now, he’d have to wait until he could see the stars again to really know for sure. Leonard just nodded, too tired to question that Chekov had memorized the star charts and not nearly stupid enough to not believe that he really had. As they walked, though, he did wonder just how much information that brain of his could retain, letting his mind wander while he trusted Chekov to keep a better eye on their surroundings. Perhaps it was unprofessional, but Leonard really had gone through the minimal training necessary for this type of situation. He was a doctor and the Academy had been much more concerned with his ability to practice medicine and help others survive on-board than they had been with his ability to survive on the bare minimum while being chased by aliens on an unfamiliar planet.

He was contemplating what he would write in a letter to the Academic Board of Supervisors about this particular oversight in his education, trailing behind Chekov and just letting his eyes rest on the lithe form in front of him, ignoring the way Chekov held that gun so familiarly and confidently, when they both heard it - a snap in the not-so-far distance and then another. Chekov immediately reminded him of a deer, body tensing and gaze snapping to the side, alert and wary just like any other creature of prey. His hair was even the right color for a deer, Leonard thought, and then that was his last thought for a while because they were running again.

Leonard wasn’t sure if they’d somehow circled back in the night - he doubted it because, really, he was being lead by the Fleet’s leading navigator and if he doubted him, he’d fall into despair because then they’d really be fucked - but somehow their pursuers had caught up to them. They weren’t right there yet, but they must have been fresh from rest, maybe even different people altogether, and certainly knew the area better because they were able to move much more quickly than Chekov and Leonard could. He was so fucking sick of running by the time they reached a rocky area and it just got harder from there.

He felt so incompetent as they tried to make their way over the rocks, Chekov reaching back to steady him on more than one occasion. Kid was like a damned mountain goat, steady and sure-footed even on this terrain and Leonard would probably hate him a little for it if he wasn’t so damn grateful.

The sun was already setting, casting long shadows and making it even more difficult to determine where one rock ended and another started, where to put his feet so his boot wouldn’t get lodged between two of them and take even more time. Leonard preferred to think that they were far enough north that the day was just that short and that they hadn’t really been running that long - again. He could hear running water nearby and wondered if they were next to a stream or river and if that would help Chekov get them to civilization more quickly - assuming that wherever they arrived wouldn’t just kill them on sight.

Chekov reached out and tugged him to the left, almost throwing Leonard off-balance. Leonard looked up from his feet and followed the line of Chekov’s arm to where he was pointing - a cave. Better yet, a small cave with some covering provided by the rocks around it and the little dry looking shrubbery that had been dotting the landscape.

The sounds of their pursuers echoed off the rocks, making it hard for Leonard to distinguish direction or distance, but they were enough to give him the energy he needed to put on a little push to reach the cave before they came over the rise Leonard and Chekov had just descended. Chekov shoved him inside first and scrambled after him.

It was tall enough to stand in, but narrower than it had seemed from the outside. They’d have to check it for whatever beasts this planet had to offer, but for now, Leonard had his back up against a wall in the dark, just out of the light streaming in through the opening. Chekov was pressed up against him, shoulder against Leonard’s chest and the other one almost brushing the rock on the other side of the opening. The gun at his side pressed into Leonard’s hip, a sharp reminder of the danger they were in - as if he could forget - and as much of a reminder of how deadly Chekov could be as the rifle the young man had in his hands, at the ready to be brought to his shoulder and fired in needed.

The sounds of boots on stone got louder and Leonard heard a shout of foreign words. Chekov tensed, but then slowly started to relax as the sounds moved farther out again. He was breathing heavily, more than Leonard would have anticipated. This guy ran marathons, after all, and here he was, breathing as heavily as Leonard, if not more so. They were tired, completely exhausted, but while Leonard’s breath were heavy and deep, Chekov’s were more shallow and faster. The sounds outside faded away and Leonard focused his attention on the young man in front of him. Flushed skin, labored breathing, sweat on his brow - all of it could be explained away by fatigue followed by exertion. He really shouldn’t be worrying, but something nagged at his over-tired brain, a memory that just wouldn’t surface through the fog.

“They said something about checking the river. We’ll have to keep watch, but we should be okay to rest here unless they double back.” Chekov coughed and said something else, but Leonard didn’t hear it, too distracted by what else he had heard and a memory rushing back.

In the shuttle before they’d launched from Enterprise, Chekov had coughed. Just a short shallow cough, but Leonard was on high alert both from preparations to deal with an unknown illness as well as stress from the impending flight. He asked how long Chekov had had that cough, words probably a bit more terse than necessary. Chekov had responded that it was nothing, just an allergic reaction from something Scotty’d had him doing, and Leonard had yet again spoken without thinking, “Do you have a medical degree, Lieutenant?”

Thankfully, there’d been less disastrous results than the other times he’d snapped at someone recently, and it had almost been like Before when Chekov quipped, “No, but Doctor Shir’n does.” Subramanyam hadn’t stifled his laughter completely and even Raleigh had-- She’d laughed at him.

Leonard hadn’t thought anything of it since then. Shir’n was a fine doctor and he’d had no reason to question it until now.

Just now, Leonard had heard a wheeze. That wheeze made everything else - skin, breathing, sweat - seem much more sinister. Chekov coughed into the crook of his arm again, lowering his weapon, and Leonard was listening for it now, heard the dull yet deep sound it made in Chekov’s chest, not quite the barking noise he had reason to fear but not normal for a cold either.

Whatever it was, it definitely had a hold on Chekov’s lungs and it definitely had come on quickly.

He must’ve been silent for too long and Chekov probably wanted a response to whatever it was that Leonard hadn’t heard. He looked up at Leonard with his eyes narrowed and his eyebrows pinched together in concern. Leonard beat him to speaking.

“How long have you had that cough?” He almost expected Chekov to roll his eyes, but maybe Leonard’s tone had been serious enough or maybe Chekov knew that his shortness of breath wasn’t normal even for this very abnormal situation they found themselves in.

“A few days.” He explained what Shir’n had told him about allergies from inhalants that Chekov had been exposed to and how he’d been put on an inhaler and a medication to get over it a bit more quickly since he’d be going to the planet’s surface. Leonard was going to have a talk with Shir’n if - when - they got back.

He didn’t care how valuable Chekov was to this mission; he should’ve been taken off the roster immediately with a cough, even one that seemed simple enough.

“Did he give you an antibiotic?” Leonard wasn’t a fan of using those often, but Chekov had been put on an immunosuppressant to control the inflammation Shir’n had heard in his lungs and then sent to an alien planet to research a disease in a medical facility. With a cough already, not only did he risk passing it to one of the patients, he would need more protection that Leonard or the others did in such a scenario, even if the disease they’d be studying hadn’t been known for infecting humans.

Chekov shook his head. Leonard looked away. Night was falling quickly outside and Leonard was just so tired.

“We need to get some sleep, Doctor.”

It was Leonard’s turn to shake his head. “I need to listen to your lungs first.” He looked back to find Chekov watching him. But he didn’t argue. He just nodded and moved farther into the cave before the light grew too dim, pulling out a small flashlight only when he was certain he was far enough from the entrance and never shining it towards the opening.

Nothing but rock and it didn’t even go too far back, even if it did open out enough to sit down against the wall with legs stretched out in front. Nothing to surprise them in the middle of the night, but no other exit either.

They set down their packs and Leonard got out his stethoscope. Chekov obediently sat down, took the deep breaths Leonard instructed him to, didn’t even give Leonard an odd look when he asked him to say the letter E a few times while he listened, patiently waited for Leonard to get done with his tapping and questions about breathing and pain. Leonard put his stethoscope away and desperately wished to wake up because this needed to all just be a nightmare.

He was trying to tell himself this was Shir’n’s fault as he dug around in the pack for the Tri-ox. Med tech wasn’t perfect and the cold and exertion could have easily caused whatever this was to progress more quickly. But the immunosuppressant and sending him to a frigid planet had certainly not helped the situation.

But there was no crackling, no dull spots when he tapped, nothing to indicate fluid in the lungs. Just the wheezing, as if that weren’t enough. It could be worse, but it wasn’t as bad as he’d feared.

Chekov’s lungs were definitely inflamed and Leonard was going to need to keep checking up on him. Some of their supplies had been left behind in the shuttle, but at least they had some Tri-ox compound to keep his oxygen levels up. They didn’t have much, though. Again, Chekov was quiet, just watching Leonard and nodding when he told him what he was administering and why. No need to mention what it might turn into just yet. Chekov was smart enough to probably be thinking about those things already. But it could be a number of things and Chekov could’ve picked it up anywhere. Leonard wondered if the staff on Enterprise was seeing more crew members with a cough like this.

It wasn’t easy to sleep that night, with just a blanket between them and the bedrock of the cave, wrapped up over their legs as much as they could and another over each of their shoulders. Three blankets total and a cold rocky surface wasn’t much comfort, but at least the cave was slightly warmer than the windy night outside.

They tried to sleep in shifts, but Leonard still found himself waking at the slightest noise, whether it was the shift of a rock outside or a cough from Chekov. He was pretty sure that Chekov hadn’t slept any better either. Some rest was better than the night before, however, and the day dawned cold but calm. A quick exam showed them Chekov wasn’t really any worse than before at least, so no Tri-ox just yet, both silently agreeing to ration that carefully just in case.

Staying alert, they made their way to the river, swift and wide. Leonard was able to pay more attention to their surroundings that day, having gotten the bare minimum he needed to function like a normal human being. The rocks were slightly more blue in hue than anything he’d expect on a riverbed on Earth. The water was clear, though, and sweet to the taste once they’d tested it with the kit that Raleigh had wisely stuffed in one of the packs they’d miraculously grabbed. Now if only they’d grabbed the one with the full medkit.

It seemed they had his own pack and one meant for either Chekov or Subramanyam. Leonard was washing his hands in the river, scrubbing at the dried blood with sand in the frigid water and turning his hands pink with cold and irritation while Chekov inventoried their packs and filled their water reserves from upstream. White entered Leonard’s field of vision and he looked up to see Chekov offering him a damp cloth, gesturing up at Leonard’s face with a serious look on his own.

Leonard hesitated, but eventually took it and used it to scrub at his face. He refused to look at it before shoving the cloth back into the river, rinsing away the rusty flecks before he could think too much about it. He should ask about Subramanyam, ask if Chekov was okay. Leonard was sure he was unhurt, even if ill, but he’d known the other Lieutenant much better than Leonard had. Jim had handpicked him, bristling at the order to not send security and finding a loophole in a security officer who happened to know enough about engineering to be helpful to Chekov, to be explained away as a second assistant, one for each of them, evening out the number. Leonard remembered that four was the number for death in the old Chinese culture. Maybe they were screwed before they ever left the ship.

Chekov finally broke the silence as he handed Leonard some of the rations. He moved closer so he could keep his voice quiet. They couldn’t know how much their voices would carry in this terrain and atmosphere. Really, though, Leonard had gotten used to a quieter Chekov during the recent social disaster and then rushed mission prep on board, so as much as he still liked the sound of his voice, it almost seemed more odd to hear it now than the silence from before when it was nothing but running footsteps and heavy breathing, or the soft sounds from washing up this morning.

“I think I know generally where we are. There are villages along this river in either direction. While the stars would help know which way the nearest city is, we should be able to make it somewhere without too much trouble as long as we can keep to the shore.”  He went on a bit more about how that would put them at more risk of being found, so they’d have to stay vigilant, but Leonard still had a question once Chekov had fallen silent.

“How long to the villages?”

Chekov looked back down, finishing packing his bag. “A day or two, depending on where we actually are.” Leonard wondered if he’d be basically admitting that he didn’t know if the other Lieutenants, or an NCO, were with them. He didn’t really have a response to that, though, so they shouldered their packs and Chekov picked up the rifle and they head along the river, following its flow. And really, what could one say to that? They were going to be stuck out here for a day or two, more if they were chased away from the river and with how their luck was lately, that was horribly likely to happen.

Just the two of them in the wilderness, cold weather and clouds gathering in the sky, without enough rations and an untreated illness on top of it. Leonard thought that he probably couldn’t hate this away mission any more than he already did, but as soon as he thought that, he knew that he’d just jinxed himself. In only two days, two of their people were already dead, Chekov had likely killed at least one of their attackers, and they’d been shot at and chased like rabbits during a hunt.

And yet, Leonard knew that it could definitely get worse. He just wasn’t sure if anyone was listening as he silently prayed that it wouldn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it looks like this might be around 15 chapters long. I already have part of the next chapter written, but I have a new job and will be moving in early January, so I'm not sure how long it will take to update. I'll do my best to be timely with it, though! Thank you all for bearing with me while my non-fangirl life has been getting in the way of my writing!
> 
> Also, any thoughts on whether I need to change the summary? I feel like it doesn't entirely grasp the scope of the story anymore...


	11. In Which the Stone Cracks

They’re still alive a few days later. It’s not much - Leonard isn’t sure how many days it’s been exactly since everything is blurring together into a haze of running, stiffness, grief, worry, and interrupted sleep - but it’s something at least. They’re both still alive and they’ve been able to slow down a bit as they’ve become more confident that their pursuers aren’t closing in.  


Still no village to take refuge in. Still no rescue.  
  
Still no crackling noises in Chekov’s lungs - yet. Leonard checked every morning. The wheezing was getting worse, though, and the cough persisted.  
  
They’d come up on something, some sign of civilization - probably that village they’d hoped could help them contact _Enterprise_ , the one Chekov remembered from the maps - but there’d been too many guns present to risk getting close enough to even see how big the settlement was and they’d been driven away from the river in an attempt to keep themselves free and alive. They hadn’t felt safe enough to head back to the river for some time and Leonard keenly felt the sense of loss, could see the hope fading in Chekov as the lines of his face hardened in frustration and discouragement.  
  
The rations were running low, but finally Leonard could be of some use, at least. There were edibles to be found in the forest, mostly tubers, some mosses that weren’t exactly appealing to the human palate but nutritious enough. There were even some fungi distinct enough that Leonard wouldn’t have to worry about a minor difference in markings being the only thing standing between deliciousness and death like he would if he were mushroom hunting back on Earth. This whole damn planet was heavily forested and that very forest was the source of much of the inhabitants’ food, apparently. Really, that report had been one of the more interesting ones Leonard had read through for this mission and, considering the reason he was down on this planet to begin with, the only one that wasn’t depressing as hell. It’d been a welcome break from casefile after casefile about plague victims.  
  
They stopped at one of the streams that fed the river to get water and Leonard felt Chekov’s eyes on him as he plunged his hands into the cold water to wash off the food that could supplement their dwindling supplies. Chekov moved closer so he could keep his voice low.  
  
“...Those are edible?”  
  
Leonard huffed out a laugh. They certainly didn’t look like anything they were used from home, that was for sure. Everything on this planet seemed to have a weird blue tinge to it. “Yeah, they’re edible. Nutritious, too.” Chekov looked over at him and Leonard could tell that he wanted to ask if he was sure, but didn’t want to offend him. Carefully hidden skepticism was something Leonard had seen enough in his life to recognize it in anyone at this point.  
  
“I got a bunch of reports on the food culture down here and it covered the harvest and prep of some of the plants along with identification.”  
  
“And you memorized it?” The skepticism was gone, replaced by surprise.  
  
Leonard huffed out another not-quite-laugh, but this one was a bit more bitter than the last. “Had to. I certainly looked at it enough.” He noticed another plant with edible roots growing on the other side of Chekov, the leaves just barely sticking out of the water. “Hey, dig that up, will ya?”  
  
He went on talking and washing as Chekov complied. This was the first conversation they’d had in over a day, or at least the first one with actual words and not just gestures and facial expressions, and Leonard didn’t want to let it go yet. “Jim was gonna be down here and he’d be expected to eat and so I had to test everything he might come into contact with. Had to poke him so many times, he’s probably got a tic around needles at this point.  
  
“Really, though, we couldn’t have them accidentally poisoning him or sending him into anaphylaxis or something. Could you imagine that? I’d rather turn him into my personal pincushion than deal with that conversation.” Was he bitter? Aw, maybe a bit, and he was certain it came through in his voice, his words dripping with sarcastic affability. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d been told that his drawl was always more pronounced when he was bitching about something and Jim sure as hell gave him enough to bitch about. “‘Oh, you almost killed our illustrious captain? Aw, that’s alright. This happens sometimes, him almost dying. Hadn’t done it in a while actually, so it was probably getting to be that time. Gotta keep the crew on their toes and all that.’ That reckless bastard...” Leonard shook his head as he shook some excess moisture out of the slightly cleaner moss in his hands. The hands hovering above the water beside his own had finished digging up and washing the roots a bit ago, but Leonard looked up at the face of their owner when they started shaking slightly and realized that the soft sound he was hearing was one he hadn’t heard in so long that he almost didn’t recognize it.  
  
Chekov was laughing. He was grinning at Leonard and chuckling quietly and Leonard felt like the sun had come out and he was finally warm for the first time in days.  
  
The rest of the day seemed lighter after that. Sure, they were still technically running for their lives, but a weight had lifted and it was almost possible to forget just how dire the situation really was. Food was divided and Chekov complained good-naturedly about the rudimentary scratch tests Leonard made him do, arguing that Russians didn’t have allergies. After what Leonard had seen him survive, he was almost willing to believe that, but he’d rather not have to use the small amount of epinephrine in his kit if they could avoid it.  
  
It felt almost like they were on a hike the rest of the afternoon, Leonard pointing out more food for them to gather, Chekov learning so quickly that he’d often notice them first. Both of them had a more energy in their steps and maybe it was because they were no longer as worried about running out of things to eat, or maybe it was because it was a little easier to smile and felt a little less lonely.  
  
Night was spent at the base of a massive tree, settled in a space between the roots. It was chilly, but the wind was mostly blocked by the tree. Huddled together, they could stop the shivering at least.  
  
Leonard heard crackling in Chekov’s lungs in the morning.  
  
It was stupid to hope that maybe he’d been hearing things or that he’d moved the scope over fabric or something, but he made Chekov take another deep breath and then another. He looked up at Chekov, his normally pale skin flushed with either cold or fever, Leonard didn’t know. Leonard opened his mouth to say something - what that something would be he didn’t know either - but Chekov just shook his head and interrupted him.  
  
“It’s getting late. We should get going.”  
  
Leonard started checking him over every evening, too.  
  
Chekov led them back closer to the river, the likelihood of finding a settlement higher if they stayed close. That meant rockier terrain but caves to sleep in at night, out of the chilly shade of the trees but facing wind cooled on the water. They were slowing down and Leonard didn’t think it was just because of him anymore.  
  
He couldn’t stop thinking about all of the things that could be happening in Chekov’s body right then, the different possibilities for how this disease - whatever it was - could progress and none of them were good. Chekov seemed determined to keep the light-heartedness of the day they’d laughed by the stream, forcing cheer that Leonard didn’t really think he felt either. The soft talking - just inane things like pointing out  an interesting rock formation or finally recognizing that the weird sound they’d kept hearing was a truly freaky looking bird - tapered off as it started to be interrupted more and more by coughs and wheezes.  
  
Leonard was feeling a hopelessness that he hadn’t felt the entire time they’d been on this planet. Before, he thought they’d be rescued, that Chekov could lead them somewhere friendly. That the cough was just lung irritation. Now, there was nothing either of them could do, not about being stranded, not about Chekov’s illness. Hell, Leonard had no way of even diagnosing it properly, so even if he’d had antibiotics beyond a wound cream, he couldn’t administer them. Bacteria or virus, it didn’t matter because it was slowly killing Chekov and all of Leonard’s schooling and experience was useless.  
  
They stopped regularly for “meals,” since they needed to keep their strength up as much as possible with their meager supplies, and Chekov needed that nutrition even more in his condition. One midday meal was particularly soothing. The freaky bird was nowhere to be found - Leonard really didn’t need to hear that rusty-tin-can-coughing-up-mucus-and-nails bird call ever again - and they’d found a warm flat rock to sprawl out on. Leonard felt like an exhausted lizard sunning himself, and he didn’t even want to eat, just wanted to curl up and go to sleep. It was so tempting, after he’d swallowed what he could, but he was jerked into awareness by something far more disturbing than that ridiculous bird.  
  
At first, he’d thought Chekov was choking. He was hunched over, coughs racking his body, and Leonard quickly shifted closer in case he needed to administer the Heimlich. The wet coughs sent a shiver through him in a way that the wind never could, negating the heat from the sun, and the blood froze in his veins when Chekov coughed once more, hacked, spat, and they both got a look at what the problem had been.  
  
Red was splattered across the rock. Thick red drops glistened and started to congeal in the sun.  
  
Chekov’s hands were shaking with the force of the coughs and when he wiped his mouth with the back of one, another smear of red came away. Leonard watched in silence as Chekov wiped off his hand and swished some water around his mouth, spitting off the side of the rock, but Leonard knew the water would be pink.  
  
“Chekov.” He’d said it so softly that he wasn’t sure Chekov had heard it. He wasn’t sure what he had planned to say, but he couldn’t just let it go as Chekov packed up their leftovers and stood. He tried again, a little louder, using a name he wasn’t sure he had a right to use, because he needed-- something. Acknowledgement, maybe, he didn’t know, but something. “Pavel--”  
  
“Don’t.” Chekov shouldered his pack. “Let’s get you home.”  
  
Any other person, any other situation, Leonard would’ve pushed. He would’ve made him talk about it, would’ve made him face it, would’ve taken issue with what he’d said, with its implications. But he didn’t. Because Leonard didn’t want to face it either. Chekov’s health was deteriorating, his disease progressing quickly, and neither of them wanted to think about what that meant.  
  
They didn’t speak for the rest of the day, even as the cold grew more biting, their breaths clearly visible as a thick fog instead of the wisps of smoke they’d been earlier. Leonard’s worry dug into him, distracting him from everything but Chekov and blood and limbs stiff with cold. It was amazing he hadn’t fallen into the river in his distraction, since all of a sudden it seemed darker than just a moment ago and Chekov was stopping at the base of a rocky bluff - when had they come up to a bluff?  
  
Chekov motioned for him to wait as he investigated a fissure low to the ground. Leonard really didn’t like the look of it, didn’t like the foreboding feeling it gave him that they’d be trapped after crawling through a hole like that, but they couldn’t stay out here. There wasn’t enough shelter on the rocky shoreline and Leonard didn’t know what it meant that the temperature was dropping so steadily. What season were they in down here? He couldn’t remember. Not that it mattered - cold weather was cold weather no matter the season, and cold weather could be deadly even for the healthy.  
  
A hand reappeared from the hole in the stone, waving him in, and Leonard got down on his hands and knees as the sounds of the nocturnal animals started to rise. Pushing his pack in front of him, Leonard tried not to think about the millions of tons of rock that were above and around him. He’d never been claustrophobic and their other nights in caves hadn’t bothered him this much. They’d felt safe then, a thick barrier between them and those trying to kill them. But everything felt more sinister now and Leonard was starting to worry that he would completely lose it by the time whatever was going to happen - however this was going to end - happened.  
  
Leonard was pretty sure that caves on this planet would be like caves on Earth or any other planet - a steady temperature due to the insulation of the stone around them. It was definitely warmer once the cave opened up after several feet, but still not at a comfortable temperature. The ceiling was high enough for Chekov to stand in, and while this cave probably flooded in the spring, it was relatively dry at the moment. Leonard gave the entrance an unhappy glance as he stood and stretched as best he could. He was not looking forward to crawling back through there, but at least he wouldn’t have to sleep in something that felt so much like a coffin.  
  
Chekov had turned on one of their lamps and started getting out what they would eat before turning off the lamp and sleeping away the dark. Leonard wished they could have a fire. He could still see his breath in here. Not only would the fire offer heat, but light and protection because some base part of himself just couldn’t feel safe anymore and the small openings at the back of the cave frightened him. Maybe earlier he’d just been in too much shock to fear the caves they’d stayed in.  
  
The crackling was still there when Leonard performed his evening health check, and the flush was definitely from a fever. They didn’t bother speaking of it again and Leonard kind of wondered why Chekov kept letting him examine him. They both knew he couldn’t do anything, but it at least helped Leonard to know how it was progressing, to have some idea of what would likely happen next and to maybe get a grasp on how soon he could expect certain things.  
  
But Chekov didn’t seem to want to know. Maybe he was that aware of his own body and how it should work that he didn’t need to be told what was happening. Or maybe hearing it said out loud would make it too real. Leonard didn’t know and he didn’t like not knowing things which is why he needed these examinations so badly.  
  
Leonard usually took first watch and they both tried to make themselves comfortable on the rock, but Chekov was having more trouble than usual. He’d lie down, stay there for a short while before sitting up again, not lying down again for some time. Leonard was afraid to ask him how he felt when he was lying down, if he could breathe, if he felt like he was drowning.  
  
Eventually, Chekov gave up, turned the lamp back on, stood up and stretched his arms out to the side - _opening his rib cage, giving his lungs more room to expand_ \- coughing after a deep breath, and then breaking their mutual silence. “I’ll take first watch.”  
  
 _The hell you will_ was all Leonard could think of to answer and that wouldn’t go over well.  
  
Instead, he gathered up both of their blankets and did some rearranging, knowing that Chekov was watching him with eyes narrowed in confusion. Two blankets went between his body and the rock, one behind his back as he sat against the cave wall and the other beneath him against the ground. The other he left to the side for now. “Come here.”  
  
“What? No.” The sharp tone was painful to hear, taking him back to the weeks before the mission and after Leonard had screwed up so royally. But the barking cough that punctuated it just steeled Leonard’s resolve.  
  
“We already agreed that first watch is mine since I’m shit in the mornings, and you need your sleep.” It was the closest he’d gotten to actually saying that Chekov was ill and Chekov tried to glare at him, the fevered glaze in his eyes ruining any effect it could have had.  
  
He paced a bit, Leonard waiting as patiently as he could while Chekov took the few steps each way that the space allowed. “I’ll sleep after first watch.”  
  
Apparently Leonard just didn’t have much patience to offer that day, not with his fears eating at him as they were. “No, you won’t and you need to sleep, so get over here.”  
  
Leonard could see the muscles in his jaw tighten, just like they had in Medical right before he’d verbally handed Leonard his own ass on a rather eloquent platter, and at the time Leonard may have been feeling contrite enough to listen, but he just didn’t have it in him to sit and take it this time. “I don’t need you to--”  
  
“The fuck you don’t.” Leonard didn’t even sound angry. He wasn’t yelling like he’d kind of worried he might do if he opened his mouth. He just sounded tired and frustrated and just so unwilling to listen to any of the usual shit about how he was independent and didn’t need anyone’s help. Everyone needed help and it was a mark of maturity - a badge of fucking honor and past struggles - to accept it when it was needed. “You may be in charge in this situation and that’s fine. Lord knows I’m not cut out for this. We both know that if it were just me out here, I’d be dead already.” At least Chekov didn’t insult him by trying to argue that point.  
  
“I’m a doctor and that’s it. That’s the only reason I have the rank that I do and I am damn good at my job, but I am so out of my depth down here and just-- I’m not much help and I know it. You’re not fine - we’re not fine - and there’s so little I can do about that so… at least let me do what I can.”  
  
Chekov just stared at him for a long moment, the sound of rushing water faint in the background, wind whistling through the space in the rock. He took a breath, stifled a cough, and Leonard just knew that when he opened his mouth he was going to argue and Leonard was just so sick of arguing with this man.  
  
He held the blankets open in invitation and interrupted before Chekov could get a sound out. “Chekov, as your doctor, please don’t make me order you to cuddle me. I give the ethics board enough fodder as it is.” Chekov was probably well aware that most of Leonard’s recent infractions were related to their relationship - or lack thereof - but still, after a pause to let it sink in, Leonard was rewarded with a weak smile.  
  
It wasn’t much, but as Chekov sat down between Leonard’s thighs and leaned up against his chest, guns close by, it was enough. It was enough to wrap his arms around his smaller frame, pull the blankets close and lean back. It was enough that Chekov wouldn’t be on the cold, hard rock, that he’d have a little extra heat to keep off the chills from his fever.  
  
It was enough because it was all he could do. It was enough because it had to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am perpetually sorry for how long it takes me to update this. I just hope that the wait is worth it and that next time I'll update more quickly. On a positive note, this was originally going to be a longer chapter that I split in two, so I already have part of the next chapter written.
> 
> To all of you who are still patiently following this, thank you. I'll do my best to keep the quality while speeding up the process a bit.


	12. In Which A Child Shall Lead Them

Each day, Chekov’s health continued to deteriorate, the weather got a little colder, and Leonard’s hope of getting off of this planet alive - and together - dwindled away.

Leonard was certain that he was no longer the reason for their slow pace and mornings got a little later, breaks a little longer, and evenings a little earlier as Chekov just didn’t have the energy to keep going for too long. The “cuddling” continued and as shameful as it may be, Leonard could admit to himself that he enjoyed it. They were both warmer for it, but the real comfort for Leonard was knowing that he could feel each breath, each shift, each stifled cough. He couldn’t do a damn thing to help either of them, but he could wrap his arms around Chekov every night and feel just a little more secure. 

It wasn’t much but it was something.

While the nights weren’t too bad in whatever cave or other hollow in the rock they could find to protect them a little against hypothermia, the wind did its best to make up for that during the day.  
Every gust carrying the smell of oncoming frost literally took Chekov’s breath away, leaving him coughing in its wake before the gust rushed up along the water and rocks.

Leonard finally couldn’t let it go anymore. “We need to find somewhere to stay.” 

No response from Chekov. There was no way that he hadn’t heard.

“We need somewhere that we can hunker down and--” And what? Wait this out? Wait for Chekov to get better? They both knew what they would really be waiting for.

“No.” 

Leonard stopped walking. He wasn’t going to argue this while Chekov’s lungs were already fighting with walking and at least Chekov would have to turn around and put his back to the wind to tell Leonard why he was wrong. “Chekov, the wind alone--” 

“No.” Chekov’s words were so forceful they were almost a yell. He did turn around, as Leonard had hoped, but the flush on his overly pale cheeks was less than comforting. “No, Leonard, we have to keep moving. We’re too far from the crash for staying put to help them search for us. We’re probably still being tracked, but there are settlements all along this river, not just the one we had to pass up. We have to keep going.”

He’d called him Leonard, but he hadn’t been able to get through a single sentence in one breath. Leonard wasn’t sure which it was that caused his own breath to feel cold and thin in his chest. 

Leonard wasn’t very good at hiding his emotions and the negative ones had a tendency to leak out onto his face. Chekov just looked away, tried to take a deep breath, and failed with a barking cough. 

They just stood there, Leonard looking at Chekov and Chekov looking at anything but Leonard, for a while in the cold wind whistling along the rocks. Chekov didn’t look back before he turned fully to the trees and started to weave his way up one of the less steep areas.

“We’ll move into the trees. Get away from the water.” It was a small concession, but Leonard would take it. Walking through the trees was only slightly easier than going over the rocky bank, but at least the trees blocked some of the wind.

///\\\\\

It wasn’t long before Leonard was keeping watch all night. 

Not only was Chekov too tired and Leonard too guilty to wake him, but the feel of Chekov against him had turned from a blessing to a curse. His temperature was too high, his ear burning against Leonard’s cheek as he rested his head on Leonard’s shoulder. Every wet cough was a reminder that Chekov wasn’t just sleeping peacefully in his arms, wasn’t there because he wanted to be but because he’d feel like he was drowning with the fluid in his lungs if he were to lie down.

Leonard was too tired to get too worked up about it when he had trouble waking Chekov one morning. When Chekov did open his eyes to Leonard’s pestering, they were bleary and unfocused, the hand batting him away was weak as a kitten. 

He’d known this would come one day and Leonard honestly wanted to just curl back up under the fallen tree they’d been sleeping against and wait for the inevitable. He didn’t even flinch when a twig snapped right behind him. He just sat there, feet tucked under him and his side pressed against the tree, until he heard what was distinctly a foot stepping on the fallen leaves.

When he finally turned to see who it was, he almost thought he was hallucinating. What else would a little girl be doing out in that forest?

She wasn’t human - she was too blue for that - but without the ridges on the sides of her face, with her dark auburn hair tied into pigtails with two windblown bows as it was, some dirt on the knees of her thick trousers, she was still familiar. She was carrying a bundle of sticks like she’d stepped out of some fairy tale. Leonard couldn’t for the life of him remember what fairy tale had a little girl out picking up firewood in a forest, though. Whichever it’d been, it’d probably ended poorly for her.

They just stared at each other, the little girl thinking whatever she was thinking and obviously surprised to see them, Leonard stupidly trying to remember what the hell fairy tale that he’d been thinking of. Chekov drew both of their attentions with a thick, wet cough, and they both turned to watch him weakly tilt to the side to spit out some blood. 

Leonard was sure she would run then, what little kid wouldn’t, but instead she just stepped to the side to see around Leonard more easily. She peered at Chekov, his skin pale as frost with splotches of fevered pink and shiny with sweat. The ridges where a human’s eyebrows would’ve been and her tiny purple-tinted mouth twitched and Leonard got the feeling she was frowning. 

She said something that sounded almost musical, but Leonard had no idea what it was. She said it again, looking straight at him this time, her little mouth screwed up in what he was sure would be frustration. He’d had enough looks of frustration from the people in his life that he was certain he’d be able to identify in any species with even a vaguely humanoid face.

She said something different and stepped forward. Leonard still didn’t know what she wanted. 

Apparently this culture also rolled their eyes, because that was definitely what she did next. However, Leonard didn’t expect her to step forward and grab the strap of one of the packs.

“Hey!” he started, scrambling to his feet as she picked up what turned out to be the heavier pack and hefted it with ease onto her shoulder. The inhabitants of this planet had more efficient muscle than humans did, but he’d never have expected a child to be that strong. “What do you think you’re doing?”

She rolled her eyes again and repeated the last thing she’d said.

A weak and raspy voice called out as strongly as it was able behind Leonard, “She wants you to follow.” Leonard turned to see Chekov looking much more awake, though he’d set the bar pretty low before. He turned back to the little girl standing impatiently with pack and stick bundle, and looked between them, little girl and young man.

He had no idea what her motives may be or where she would take them, but after another cough from Chekov, Leonard decided that he didn’t much care. There were only so many ways this disaster could end.

Chekov had closed his eyes again and jumped when Leonard’s arm wrapped around his back. “What’re you doing?” His words were weak and slurred, and Leonard’s determination grew.

“If I’m following her, then so are you.” It couldn’t be comfortable with his arm over Leonard’s shoulder, the height difference more pronounced by the way Chekov was carrying himself, but Leonard couldn’t carry him completely and the second pack and expect to get very far, and he had no clue how far this little kid meant to go. 

She could be taking them to people who would want to kill them for all that Leonard knew, but they were already up the figurative shit creek without a paddle, and with Chekov out of commission, it was Leonard’s job to take over and make the decisions, as bad as they might be. He didn’t really have the best options to choose from, either: wander the unfamiliar forest as winter set in or follow someone who at least knew where the hell they were but who might want them dead after xenophobic indoctrination by her family.

This away mission kept getting better and better.

The girl was remarkably patient, waiting for the coughing breaks and politely looking away when the shaking became too much and all Chekov could do was cling to Leonard and rest for a bit. This patience encouraged Leonard - perhaps foolishly, but hope was dwindling and he’d cling to what he could - that she wasn’t actually taking them to their pursuers. Though, if they were going to kill them anyway, maybe she just knew that they wouldn’t mind waiting a bit longer as long as they got there at all… Optimism had never been Leonard’s strong suit. 

If they hadn’t been walking so much lately, Leonard would’ve been inclined to hyperbolize that they’d been walking forever by the time they finally came to the girl’s intended destination. It was in a clearing that Leonard was too tired to take much note of and the building was a-- Well, the word “shack” didn’t quite cover the level of decrepitude, in Leonard’s opinion. It was barely bigger than what was surely an outhouse they passed by on their way around the “shack” to its front “door.” 

But whatever sarcastic and disparaging remarks Leonard may mentally have for its appearance, the building stood up to the wind and - even better - blocked that wind pretty well. Inside, the girl used some of her bundle to light a fire in the little metal stove and urged the men over to the large cushion in the corner. Leonard’s eyes teared up a little at the weak but contented sigh that escaped Chekov once he’d been gently lowered down onto the lumpy surface of the almost-mattress. The building was small enough to heat up pretty quickly, even with the occasional gust of wind leaking past a loose board. 

Leonard turned to thank the girl - not that she’d understand his words - but when he did, her back was already to them, setting the pack by the door and then stepping out of it into the cold. Part of her bundle had been stacked neatly next to the stove and looking at it made those tears in Leonard’s eyes spill over. 

He was quiet about it, but the tears were there, streaking through the grime that was inevitably on his cheeks at this point. They still might die. The smoke could be noticed and investigated by the people chasing them. The little girl could betray them. But Chekov was warm and settled on a cushion that would only get more comfortable once Leonard wrapped some blankets around him, and for the first time on this damned expedition, they hadn’t had to fight for something. They had food in their packs, water in their canteens, heat, and shelter. 

He couldn’t ignore the wheezing or the fever as he leaned Chekov forward enough to get between him and the wall, rearranging them both into the sleeping positions they’d had since that night in the cave. It was quite the change to actually be warm, and with Chekov sleeping soundly against his chest and securely in his arms, Leonard thought that maybe this was enough.

Leonard had no delusions that either of them were strong enough to walk any farther, that somehow Chekov would get better without modern medical attention, that the girl would return with a doctor that could treat a human, or that somehow their friends would find them and rescue them. But if this was all they had until time ran out, well... there were worse ways to go.

When Leonard woke up, it was dark and he had no idea how long it’d been. It was colder than it had been when he went to sleep. He carefully shifted Chekov and climbed out from behind him, settling him back against the wall. The fire was almost out. They could’ve been asleep for a while.

He fed the fire, made a quick trip to the outhouse in the freezing air, and used some of their water to wash up as best he could. With a fire, the mess kit was finally useful and Leonard had the pleasure of waking Chekov up for the first warm food they’d had in far too long. Yes, it was only some stewed roots, but the broth might soothe Chekov’s throat and cough and that was more than Leonard had been able to offer him since this whole thing had begun its final downward slide.

The light from the open stove door cast disturbing shadows in the hollows of Chekov’s cheeks, making his eyes look even more sunken than in daylight. It was almost skeletal and Leonard was glad to settle himself behind Chekov again and wait out the night while Chekov went back to sleep. He should’ve at least tried to be on watch earlier. That was a personal failure that could’ve gotten them killed and Leonard would at least make an effort this time. He could at least keep the fire going.

Chekov’s voice startled him just as the light outside the cracks around the door had started to turn gray with the dawn. His flinch jostled Chekov into another coughing fit and Leonard groped around for the canteen. Chekov managed some sips as Leonard apologized.

“What was it, Chekov? Did you need something?”

Chekov leaned slightly to spit onto the dirt floor, returning to rest his head against Leonard’s collarbone as he tried to speak. “I’m sorry.”

That was just confusing. “For what?” For coughing? For spitting up blood? For Leonard being afraid that Chekov would die and Leonard would be all alone and not even able to bury him properly? Leonard couldn’t think of a thing Chekov would need to apologize for, but the brain was a strange thing and Chekov probably could think of a number of things in his fevered state.

“For before. On the ship.” 

Three words. Three tiny fucking words, three _syllables_ , was all he could get out between each need for breath and-- “What?”

“On the ship. I was cruel. I shouldn’t have--” A coughing fit this time and another shaky sip of water. 

Leonard pulled the blankets a little closer around Chekov. He needed something to do with his hands. “You don’t need to apologize for that. I was an asshole and I deserved it.”

Chekov shifted and Leonard thought that maybe he’d try to twist to look at him which would only make Chekov cough again, so he wrapped his arms around the smaller figure a little more tightly to discourage it. Any other time, Chekov would’ve easily broken away, but he quickly gave in and that broke Leonard’s heart a little, probably just starting early on the complete shattering this conversation would probably cause if Chekov decided to pursue it.

Leonard thought that maybe he’d given up when the pause dragged on, but he was never that lucky, as recent events had pretty much proven. “You weren’t. The only--” Another wet cough and shuddering breath. “Was my fault. All of it.”

He must’ve known Leonard would disagree. He reached up and gripped Leonard’s forearm to silence him in a quiet _Let me finish_. “At the club.” _Oh God_ … Leonard didn’t want to talk about this. “I thought-- I was so stupid. The whole time--” 

Leonard tried to interrupt at that - if anyone was stupid, it sure as hell wasn’t Pavel Andreievich Chekov - but he was cut off by another coughing fit, weak but dragging on so long that he sat up a bit farther to prop Chekov up a bit more, help him lean enough to spit out whatever was choking him like that. When they both settled back against the wall, the light coming in around the door was enough to see how pale Chekov had become and Leonard didn’t want this to be their last conversation. 

“We were both stupid and it’s done.” It wouldn’t do any good to argue. “I’m sorry I was an asshole. It’s over.” It was all over and yet Leonard would give anything to go back to Chekov being healthy and hating him. “So don’t worry about it. We’re good, right?”

He felt Chekov nod against his shoulder as he coughed again. “My parents…” He didn’t continue.

That sinking feeling appeared in Leonard’s gut again. “What about them?”

“Call them? Want you to.” Leonard’s interruption was so weak that Chekov just continued. “Please. Promise.”

He couldn’t say it. He couldn’t promise that he’d call and he couldn’t tell Chekov that it would all be okay. He wouldn’t lie to him about such important things. But he didn’t want to say out loud that neither of them would be getting off of this fucking planet, that he wouldn’t be able to bring himself to talk to Pavel’s parents even if by some miracle he did survive. The fire was dying and so were they.

“Leonard.” His voice was weak and shaking, his grip on Leonard’s arm the same. Leonard rested his cheek against sweaty and dirty curls. “Please. They need to-- I want _you_ to.”

Leonard closed his eyes and lied. “Okay. I promise, Pavel.”

Pavel let go of his arm and patted it softly, almost petting the fabric of Leonard’s shirt. “Thank you.” 

Once he was sure Pavel was asleep, he pressed a kiss to the side of his head and turned to watch the light around the door get brighter.

Eventually, he had to get up to feed the fire, to shift Pavel and hope he stayed asleep, and use the last of their wood to keep them warm. Leonard wondered when he should go get more. It was light out now, so he’d be less likely to get lost if he had trouble finding dry wood nearby, but he’d have to wake Pavel to tell him where he was going. Pavel’s health had deteriorated so much that he’d probably sleep most of the time, but Leonard didn’t want him to wake up alone. At the same time, he didn’t want him to struggle to keep himself awake and worry about Leonard being gone. 

Leonard almost laughed at himself. It wasn’t like such a little problem like this mattered any more. 

Looking back down at Pavel, though, the desire to keep Pavel from waking up scared and alone and in pain won out over anything else. He stepped over - it wasn’t far in such a tiny space - to wake him when he heard it. 

The snapping of a twig.

Really, it could be anything: an animal that Leonard would have no hope of killing for food, the little girl back to check on them, the cold snapping it all on its own. He thought it might be cold enough for that last one. It’s not like a boy from Georgia would have much experience with this climate. 

Should he go investigate? The space around the ill-fitted door should be enough for him to at least get a look at the area in front of this little shack and that’s where any danger would really come at them, right? Leonard was too bone-tired to think too clearly at this point, but it kind of made sense. He turned and stepped back toward the door, grateful for the dirt floor and no risk of creaking boards. He’d check out front and if he wasn’t satisfied, he’d wake Pavel and take the gun from Pavel’s pack and hope that the quick lesson he’d been given on the run would enable him to protect them. 

He stopped. Maybe he should get the gun first.

A deep shuddering breath behind him - a wet sound that made Leonard’s chest tighten - and then silence. Leonard turned back. Pavel was so still. He was so pale and so, so still and Leonard needed to check on him, but he was afraid. More afraid than he’d been this entire time.

He stepped forward, “...Pavel?” His voice didn’t sound like his, small and wavering, but he tried again a little louder as he took another step. “...Pavel?”

The door crashed in behind him and strong hands grabbed his arms. Foreign words shouted orders, but Leonard couldn’t answer. He didn’t know what to say and he couldn’t stop looking at the figure propped against the wall - so small, _too small too still_ \- the figure that didn’t even twitch when another of their hunters jabbed him with a rifle.

The world tilted as Leonard fell to his knees, gaze not shifting even as he was dragged out of the door. How could they even move him? He felt like he weighed a thousand pounds, and then a thousand more when his line of sight was blocked, first by a body, then by the door, then by being turned and dropped, finally allowed to slump to the ground.

His captors shouted at him, kicked him, pulled him back up to his knees, and Leonard didn’t feel a thing. Nothing - not even when the muzzle of a rifle jabbed the side of his head, not when a fist struck his cheek and whipped his head to the side. The presumed leader kicked him again and Leonard crumpled, hands barely catching himself, coughing and spitting up blood onto the ground - a sight that finally made him feel something, a mere twinge and of nothing good or useful. 

A hand gripped his hair and pulled his head up sharply. The rifle from before was held to his head again and finally, Leonard had a coherent thought.

He could see the little girl from before, peering out at him from where she hid in the foliage behind his executioner and all he could think was, _She shouldn’t be here. She shouldn’t be seeing this._

Leonard closed his eyes, but he didn’t flinch when the sound of a shot echoed through the clearing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SORRY.


	13. In Which Everything Hurts

There was no pain. Leonard only had a second to wonder if his executioner had missed before a body hit the ground in front of him and the clearing exploded with the noise of gunfire. 

He’d seen dead bodies before - _so many had died_ \- but when he opened his eyes and saw his would-be executioner in front of him, Leonard couldn’t look away. It was such a cliche that he’d been shot between the eyes and deformation of the exit wound had completely destroyed the ridges that should’ve been there. Leonard should’ve been able to see glassy eyes - _something literally changes about their eyes and you can see it happen, you know?_ \- but there was too much tissue damage, too much blood to see them. 

_I wonder what color his eyes were._

The blood flow was already starting to slow, sluggishly trickling out of the damaged flesh and pooling on the frozen ground that had already soaked up as much as it could. 

All that destruction from one bullet. The bullets whizzing around him would only cause more: more blood, more death. 

Leonard was just so tired of both. 

He just wanted to lie down and sleep but he couldn’t move. He felt too heavy. And there was blood everywhere and he didn’t want more blood on him, he’d had too much of that already...

“Bones! Bones!” The echo of the last gunshot had barely faded when the sound of his name overrode it. Boots ran through that blood like it was nothing important, treads squishing through the dark mud like it was just a rainy day. 

Knees joined Leonard’s in that mire and hands were pulling at him again and Leonard looked up and Jim was right in front of him, looking him over and those were the hands pulling at him, except they weren’t pulling at him, but running all over him in such a familiar pattern, making sure that none of the blood belonged to Leonard. 

How many times had Leonard done the same thing to Jim?

The concern on Jim’s face turned into a grin and he pulled Leonard into the most painful hug Leonard had ever experienced. Everything hurt and Leonard couldn’t really bring himself to hug back - _Jim didn’t know what had happened_ \- but Jim didn’t seem to mind. The grin switched back to concern after Jim pulled away, looking Leonard in the eye - _such nice blue eyes_ \- and asked something Leonard couldn’t answer: “Where’s Chekov?”

Jim didn’t know what had happened. Jim didn’t know yet. 

Leonard couldn’t tell him.

Spock’s voice rang out from the shack. “Captain! We have Lieutenant Chekov!”

The grin was back - _he didn’t understand_ \- and so was the painful hug.

“You hear that, Bones? I’ve got you.” Jim pulled back to look him in the eyes again, to smile at Leonard again when there was no real reason for a smile that Leonard could see. “We’ve got you. You’re gonna be okay.”

All Leonard could do was shake his head.

///\\\\\

Leonard wouldn’t later remember the trip to the shuttle or the ride back to _Enterprise_ or getting looked over and settled into Medical, but that’s where he woke up: covered by a blanket on a biobed, his vital signs displayed on a screen above him. He didn’t even need to open his eyes right away to recognize where he was, with all its familiar smells and sounds. The blankets were as well known to him as the ones in his quarters, as was the feel of the bed beneath him and the beeps, blips, and voices surrounding him. 

His eyes opened and found Jim sitting next to him, a lunch tray sitting half-eaten in his lap as a PADD ate up all his attention. He looked tired; there were circles under his eyes and he seemed so sag under an unseen weight. He probably hadn’t been sleeping or eating properly. Jim had always performed well under stress, but he wasn’t immune to crashing after the disaster was over.

Though, Leonard wasn’t sure this disaster was actually over.

Leonard tried to force down a cough - just the thought of hearing a cough made his throat tighten and something in his chest clench - but Jim heard it anyway and the PADD was abandoned for a cup and straw on a table by Leonard’s bed.

The water felt good on his throat and then the cup was back on the table but Jim was still right there, staring at him. They stared at each other for a good long while before a slow but genuine smile crept onto Jim’s face. Jim gripped his hand and squeezed gently.

“Welcome back, Bones.” Leonard didn’t know if Jim expected a response to that, but Jim continued after only a short pause and a slight fall to his smile. “I should go get the doctor, let them check you over.” He nodded to himself and let go of Leonard’s hand. 

He paused just before opening the curtain partition and turned back. “I’ll have to ask you some questions about what happened,” Leonard’s hands clenched against his blankets and he looked away, “but it can wait until you’re feeling better.”

Leonard sat numbly through the physical exam and an explanation of his outlook. That was the worst part of the whole thing, really. He didn’t want to think about anything, let alone what to expect. They thought he wanted to know what the future held for him? He couldn’t bring himself to care.

He’d been on that planet for almost three Earth-equivalent weeks. It had felt like longer. And shorter. Time was strange and Leonard’s memory had gaps.

He could expect a full recovery with the proper care. Big fucking deal.

It was a bit of a shock to hear someone use the word “starvation,” though. It was true; they’d been consuming far fewer calories than they’d needed for running and battling the cold, for the high heart-rate caused by adrenaline and the lack of sleep. Leonard had lost a lot of weight and he hadn’t even realized it at the time. Other things had seemed far more important and were in far better focus in his memory. He hadn’t noticed the heart arrythmia he’d apparently developed at some point, either. 

Everything that had been happening to Pavel had been so much more important.

Not dying had far outweighed discomfort. 

His colleagues left without getting much from him verbally and he was glad that they hadn’t pushed. Doing much more than a nod or a shake of the head seemed like such an effort. Everything hurt in a way that he just didn’t remember feeling down on that frozen hellhole. His head hurt, his muscles ached, his joints were sore. It was like his body had thawed finally and everything the cold and the adrenaline had masked was making its presence very loudly known. Though, the doctors asking pointed questions about each one of those things had made him address it in a way he hadn’t earlier, either. 

Jim stepped back in once Leonard had had a moment or two of alone-time. His smile wasn’t quite right and Leonard didn’t bother trying to smile back. He did reach up and scratch at his stubble - almost a beard, really - giving in to the itchiness and thankful the nurses had trimmed his fingernails. He really hated how quickly they grew.

Jim’s smile grew a little more genuine as he sat down and made a vague gesture toward Leonard. “Yeah, they cleaned you up pretty well, but I told them not to shave you. Thought you might want to keep it a while.” Leonard didn’t say anything and Jim’s smile faltered a bit, but he soldiered on admirably.

“You know, in case you like it. Or want to change up your style a bit or something. It’s filled in pretty well; I’ll get a mirror in here so you can decide. You could maybe trim it up, wax that mustache a bit, get a whole well-tailored lumberjack thing going on…” He was rambling. He felt awkward, so he was rambling and Leonard didn’t blame him. Leonard wouldn’t know what to say either if their positions were reversed. He’d resort to lecturing him on something health-related, so he wouldn’t judge Jim rambling about facial hair of all things. Not like Leonard was really helping carry along conversation or anything. 

“...I mean, now you can shave it off yourself, since you’re finally awake - not that you didn’t have any right to sleep that long, I’m actually surprised you didn’t sleep longer. But yeah, just say the word and we can have you smooth as a baby’s bottom again in no time.” Jim paused, running out of steam for a minute as they just stared at each other before Jim could figure out where to take his strange topic of conversation after that. Leonard kind of hoped he’d just give up and talk about something completely different - or better yet, leave.

“It does look good, if you’re wondering. Could probably use a trim, but other than that, it looks pretty good. Rugged, even. They should probably go ahead and shave Chekov, though. I mean, if I were him, I’d be pissed when I woke up and realized that my friends had let me lay around for days with that patchy stubble on my face. Poor kid. I don’t know if he’ll ever be able to grow a full beard. I hope that’s not, like, a life goal of his or something...”

The monitors registered the spike in Leonard’s heart rate immediately. There were things Leonard wanted to say for the first time since he’d woken and he just couldn’t get them out. He wanted to cry and yell because Jim was talking about Pavel like he was alive and Jim wouldn’t do that if he weren’t and Leonard needed details even as his vision blurred at the edges, but all he could do was reach for Jim’s hand and grip it hard as his heart raced.

Pavel was alive.

Nurses had already rushed in by the time Leonard leaned over and vomited all over Jim’s shoes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For future notice, for those of you who were a bit stressed by the end of the last chapter: if you're ever concerned, check my tags. If it's major and it's not there, it didn't happen. :D


End file.
